


A Journey of the Soul

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: A Journey of the Soul (Salshira) [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Eventual Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic BDSM, Slow Burn, We're at 81000 words without a kiss I think I've earned it, also not platonic BDSM, idk i'll add more tags as i decide the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 85,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: Dropped into Thedas with no idea how or why, but armed with her considerable knowledge of the games she loved, she takes the name Salshira and vows to do it differently, do it right, and play the game her own way. There's a lot to learn, a lot that's different, but she will set the Inquisition on a different path. She will set Solas on a different path, or die trying. She tries not to love him, she knows what it means, what he will do, but she knows she can change him, save him, and in so doing put them all on a better path.Unless fate really is written in stone...





	1. Chapter 1

The night felt alive, more so than usual. It was a good night for a walk, despite the humidity. A full moon hung heavy in the sky and she was sure all the crazies were out to play. She wasn't one of them, hadn't been since before she was of legal age. But who had to know that she'd gotten it all out of her system before she was supposed to? It didn't matter. She walked into the forest, if it could be called that, that bordered the apartment complex she called home. Well, for the past two years, at least. Maybe for one more, but that itch was coming back.

The night was dark, darker there because there weren't any street lights of any kind, but she knew these paths, had walked them in day and night both. This forest was no stranger to her and it welcomed her into its embrace as she contemplated where she might move next.

It always happened the same way, her wanderlust. She'd be on her way home from work and find herself procrastinating. Stopping at shops or for a snack or just to walk around so she wouldn't have to go home yet. Driving in her car, she'd start to get the urge whenever she saw a highway sign for somewhere far away to just get on that road and drive and drive until she couldn't drive anymore and see where she ended up. But that wasn't a practical way to move to from place so she never gave in to those urges. But that was how she knew when it was time to move again.

Maybe someday she would go somewhere and never get that urge again, but somehow she sort of doubted it.

She sighed heavily and leaned against her favorite tree, an ancient and gnarled willow that had done her many favors. She patted the bark affectionately and loosely braided a few dangling branches near her for something to do with her hands.

“What do you think, is it time to leave the country?” she asked the tree, smiling up at the branches. “I'm thinking Asia. What do you think about Asia?” A breeze blew gently past and she closed her eyes and smiled, the scent of summer much nicer in the presence of her friend. “Europe, then? I've been thinking about Finland. But I'm not sure I'm crazy about being so cold.”

This time instead of a breeze a sudden gale of wind almost knocked her off her feet. She gasped and choked on the sheer force of air, stumbling to catch herself before she fell. That was not normal and she gazed around in fright as the willow branches whipped at her face. She'd never see anything until she got out from under the tree. She almost suspected a helicopter maybe as she struggled through the tangled mass of branches, except that she didn't hear it and no way would there be one this close to her. She was still puzzling through what could be happening when she finally managed to fight her way out of the tree and found herself falling.

“Fuck! Fucking shit fuck fuck fuck!” she shouted on the way down, until it occurred to her that she was going to die if she managed to get out that many expletives without touching anything solid. Wind rushed past her ears and she started to shriek. None of this existed where she'd been standing. There was no cliff she could have fallen off in the middle of the city. There was no possible way that this could be happening. Yet she was shrieking as she fell and fell and fell and she was definitely going to die when she hit the bottom. There was no way that she wasn't.

Except there was no bottom and she didn't know what finally broke her fall because she couldn't see anything and couldn't feel anything and there was nothing for a long time except her harsh breaths and her pounding heart.

Until there was pain. And then that pain became all there was. She screamed again, convulsed, tried to escape it but there was no way out, no purchase to cling to. There was nothing but the pain. Her bones made an awful noise as they rubbed against each other, cracked and moved and reformed and then cracked again. Her face split apart and reformed and her ears fell off and regrew. And then her left arm was on fire. It started in her palm and she screamed as it traveled up her arm all the way to her shoulder but no other part of her caught fire. Panic was going to engulf her and if she could breathe through the pain she'd be hyperventilating.

And then it was gone. She ached all over, worse even than when her fibromyalgia was kicking her ass, but the grinding in her bones and the tearing of her skin and the awful agony in her arm were only a memory. She had a moment to just breathe, and then she was falling again.

She screamed and clawed for anything to hold on to, but there was nothing, nothing, and then there was a light at her feet and then before she could react she slammed back into reality, broken stone under her hands and knees and a choked gasp escaped her and the dim light felt blinding after so much darkness and then she was falling again, but not very far at all, and it was a relief when her head hit the stone ground beneath her and she lost consciousness.

***

The first few moments of consciousness were slow, groggy, like she was swimming through molasses to get to the surface, but when she finally managed to open her eyes she gasped and tried to sit up. The aches in her body took that moment to remind her of their existence, particularly in her back, and when she tried to use her arms to help they wouldn't move. She gave up and laid back, then frowned when her arms still wouldn't move. She looked down at them and found metal shackles around her wrists. Her breaths started to come faster.

“Find Seeker Cassandra and tell her the prisoner is wake!” she heard called from nearby. She looked up, toward the voice, but what she saw made no sense.

Damp stone floors with broken mortar between the blocks, a person dressed in armor on the other side of thick steel bars, no windows and only a few torches to break up the darkness. Where was she?

Shouts came down stairs she couldn't see and she didn't hear them because she stopped listening, wasn't trying. Everything was so loud, so very loud in this place. Was it because of all the stone? She could hear the water trickling down the wall beside her and that was odd, she shouldn't be able to hear that so clearly.

The door to the cell she was apparently in opened with a creaking groan of metal that made her ears hurt and then she was hauled up despite her cry of pain. She was then thrown into the center of the room, told to kneel, and the four people with her drew swords to point at her, of all things. Swords. She blinked at them in confusion, blinked at the room.

It was so clear. There were only a few lights but she could see it so easily, as though it were perfectly lit. She could hear rodents scurrying around the walls and the door far above open and then close. She could hear the whispers of people on the stairs and none of that should have been possible. She could never hear so well, even with her hearing aids! And her contacts never let her see this clearly! What was happening?

It was so strange and she began to panic, and then the pain in her hand returned, muted, more like she was holding a ball of pure static shock in her palm. She gasped and looked down and found that her hand was sparking green. Her hand? It looked different, smaller, slender, but there was the freckle on her knuckle and the curved scar from where the knife slipped while she was making dinner. Three stitches to hold it together, long since healed. The hand was hers, but not. She breathed a little faster, though she tried not to, closing her mouth to breathe through her nose.

Oh shit! That smell! Piss and rotten things and the damp dark and fucking hell she'd never smelled anything like it! She fought to urge to gag, fought the panic that tried to take her, fought for calm she knew she wouldn't find.

Hard, stomping steps on the stone stairs, lighter ones beside them, and then two figures appeared and she gazed up at them in fear. Another sword was drawn, this one brought to her chin.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now,” the one who threatened her demanded, and that voice, those words, no. No, she knew this. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for  _ you!” _

Now there was no controlling the panic, no way to stop it, and her breaths came faster and faster until they were wheezing from her throat. “No! No, no! This isn't happening, you're not real! You were never real, it was a game!” She was screaming, she knew she was, but that panic had hold of her and she was cold and shaking and yanking at her restraints and the sound bounced and it hurt and her ear twitched and  _ why the fuck did her ear twitch? _ “It was just a game and I loved it but it wasn't real! You can't be real! No!” The people around her looked spooked but she saw it through hazy vision and she couldn't breathe and there was a call, a name to summon but she couldn't hear it, couldn't see, there was nothing but her breath and the pounding of her heart in her ears and then she returned to blessed blackness.

***

This time she woke slowly from the abyss, like it was trying to hold on to her, wisps of dark shadows trying to keep her unconscious until she pushed past them and forced them to release her. She didn't move this time because she could tell she hadn't truly woken yet. It had to be a dream, this stinky, cold, damp dungeon in a game she loved. It had to be a dream. It wasn't real.

“You are awake,” a soft, lilting voice she knew too well said from beside her. She flinched from it, flinched again from the warm hand, chapped around its calluses, that came to rest on her forehead. That hand felt more real than the stone beneath her back, and she didn't like that. “Be calm, I am only attempting to heal you.” A warm current, at once like water and electricity, softly flowed over her skin, and she flinched away from that alien sensation again with a quiet whimper. It stopped.

“You are not accustomed to healing magic, are you?” he asked as his hand fell away from her skin. She took a deep breath and bit the bullet, opening her eyes to what seemed to be her new reality.

There he was, in glorious Technicolor with all the realistic rendering of reality and full surround sound, her favorite fictional crush. Solas, bald and way more fucking gorgeous than she'd really known he would be. His ears were so sharp she thought they might cut, his jaw really was carved by angels, and his cheekbones could make anyone's knees melt, and that fucking chin was too good to be true. Damn it.

“Not GDL…” she muttered to herself and watched his head tilt to the side. She sighed before he could question her and answered his question. “No, never had healing magic.”

He nodded as though that answered several questions. It probably did. Shit, she had to come up with a story fast.  _ Hey, Solas, let's take a page out of your book, shall we? _ she thought at him.  _ Vague and always the truth, but only some of it. _ She could feel an interrogation coming, and she scrambled for her memory of the game, of the fandom she'd been part of, of her accumulated knowledge of this world and a name she could claim as her own because that was definitely coming next. Not her real name, it didn't fit here, didn't even really fit her, so something else.

“What may I call you?” he asked her next, and she wondered if he knew that he all but gave her permission to lie about her name. Probably.

“Salshira,” she told him, a name she'd been using to roleplay with a friend. Oh fuck, her friends… No, no time for that now, those thoughts would only make her panic again.

“A journey of the soul,” he translated, and she was somehow surprised that it translated the same here. Well, no, not if this was her dream. Oh, look, he was wearing the hobo clothes! Amazing. She had the absurd urge to giggle and tried to suppress it. “It seems apt, given the circumstances.”

She hummed to let him know she was listening and just stared at the ceiling so that maybe she wouldn't freak out again. She was probably going to freak out again. Soon. Nah, just breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  _ Panic attacks suck, let's not have another. _ Even her chest ached now, from the force of her hectic breaths.

“Why were you at the Conclave?” he asked mildly, as though they were having a pleasant chat over tea.  _ Except Solas hates tea. _ She couldn't suppress the slightly hysterical giggle this time. She cleared her throat awkwardly right after.

“I don't know,” she told him, and it felt more like the answer to everything than this specific question. Was she at the Conclave? Where did she fall out of that portal? Or did she? Was she dreaming? Was it real? It felt oddly like her memories were from long ago and the only thing that was real was this moment. But that was probably just the shock.

“You don't? Why not?” His voice was so gentle at all times and he was oddly good at this, but it made her want to scream.

“No, I don't! I don't remember!” she cried, rolling onto her side away from him.  _ Follow the narrative,  _ she told herself. Like it was that easy. She would be expected to fight, wouldn't she? Fuck.

For a while there was only the crackling of torches and the trickling of water and the stench of the dungeon. He didn't try to ask more and she was grateful for the reprieve. She needed a story, needed to remember the story she was given in the game, but mostly she just needed to try to process the fact that this was either the most realistic, most lucid dream she'd ever had, or she'd somehow fallen through a portal into Thedas.

“I will leave you to rest, Salshira,” Solas said, and she heard him get to his feet to leave. He was so quiet, just the slight rustling of cotton and wool clothing, and she shivered her discomfort because she shouldn’t have been able to hear it. Her hands were still in those awful manacles but she managed to lift one to touch the spot behind her ear where her hearing aid should have rested, but instead of touching her scalp beneath her shaved hair she just met more ear. And more ear. And still more ear. She finally found the end of it and had to bite her lip to suppress her shriek at the fact that her ear was pointed. Oh, what the fuck? Her industrial piercing was still intact, moved up the length of her now stupidly long ear, but there was the little silver bar she’d had for years. Curiously, she touched her eyebrow and found the little curved metal bar there, too. Did she still have all her piercings, even though her ear had changed shape? What the fuck…

Finally, she got around to touching the back of her ear where the bulk of her hearing aid was supposed to rest. She liked the ones she had, they were a dark red that complimented her skin and her style. But instead of finding the tiny device, she found a slightly raised bit of skin, a slightly different texture from the rest of it. Had her hearing aid melted into her flesh? Ew. Then why could she hear so clearly? Apparently all that breaking and reshaping of bones might have actually done something to her, and for the first time it occurred to her to look down at her body.

In addition to the new elongated ears and oddly slender fingers, she now had an abnormally slender body. She’d always been a bit chubby, just an accident of genetics, with wide shoulders and wide hips. But now she was skinnier than anyone she’d ever met, and the world sort of tilted for a moment, making her glad she was lying down. It took a few minutes of deep breathing, pushing back another panic attack, before she realized that her newly slender body was actually about the same shape, proportionally. Her bones had shrunk but she was still her-shaped. Hips and shoulders wider than her waist, big tits, thick thighs, strong calves. It was all somewhat familiar, at least. Just narrower and without the padding she’d had most of her life. In fact, she was oddly muscular. Not buff, but stronger than she’d been. What the fuck? No, she was saying that too much it. Or thinking it, whatever. Reality was warping again and she was worried she was about to fall back into hysterics.

No, she couldn’t afford to. She had to keep calm. A story, she needed a story. Follow the narrative, sure, but what else? The narrative certainly didn’t cover everything, did it? She’d have to fill in the blanks. There would be personal questions, more than there’d been in the game. Less exposition, more personal stuff, questions she needed to think of answers to. Well, maybe she could deflect most of them for the time being. But not forever.

Forever? Was she stuck here forever? In Thedas? In a game? Was it even a game? Shit, more questions without answers…


	2. Chapter 2

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” Cassandra told her prisoner as she freed her hands of the rope she'd been bound with. The trip through Haven to reach the path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been far worse than the dirty looks in the game. A bigger town than in game, more people, and in addition to the death glares people had spit and someone had even thrown a rock. Her head would ache for a while from that, and she could feel the trickle of drying blood behind her ear. How could these people go from this level of unfounded hatred to celebrating her as their leader and savior?

People were fickle and often had short memories, she supposed. They'd forget how much they hated her now when she helped them later, gave them hope. But she wouldn't forget. She knew the face of the rock thrower, knew the faces of those who had spit. They would not know any “heavenly forgiveness” or anything like it. She hated them right back and it would take a lot to convince her otherwise, a lot more than the fickle nature of a mob.

She followed Cassandra across the paths, investigating what she could see of her body as she went. Her feet were wide and quite flat, and her ankles seemed designed to accommodate the shape of them. They were different than what she'd known before. She didn't have an arch on the bottom of her foot but it didn't roll her ankle in the slightest. And despite the elven wraps that were around her calves and part of her feet, her toes were not cold at all. The sensation of the snowy ground under her was not unpleasant as it should have been, and she knew the contour of every rock she came across.

The feet were at least as disconcerting as the ears. She could hear everything everywhere. She could hear the pebbles under her toes and Cassandra's even breathing as they jogged ahead and the screaming of people on every side and the horrible inhuman grating noises the demons made as they entered the world. Her terrible hearing no longer existed, but she almost missed it when this was the alternative.

It took her several minutes of self inspection before she realized she was keeping up with Cassandra without a problem, her steps even and her breathing steady. They'd been jogging for at least half a mile by then and she should have faded quite a while ago. She had never been terribly fit, not since she was a hyperactive child bouncing off every wall. Medication had taken care of that little issue and ruined parts of her health in the process. She hadn't been able to jog like this since she was six. Apparently in addition to the loss of her chub she'd gained quite a bit of athleticism. That was cool.

She turned her left hand over, pulled up her ripped sleeve. She wore what looked like an archer's glove on her right hand and her left inner forearm had a leather band strapped to it, but if she'd had a glove on her left hand it had been taken from her. The ragged sleeve was pushed up so she could see her hand. It looked like hers, just more slender and with callouses she hadn't earned. But in the middle of her palm was a ragged scar, tinged a sickly green. If she looked at it for too long it seemed as though she could see past it into the inner workings of her hand. And when she kept looking she thought she could see even further than that, beyond herself, beyond her body, into a vast expanse that held nothing and everything at once.

She screamed and her knees would not hold her on the next step and she fell, pain crippling her from her hand. It arced up her arm and through her chest and stole her strength as it turned her empty stomach. The fringes of her awareness were filled with the giant hole in the sky that pulsed in time to her own pain. Her eyes, closed in her agony, seemed filled with that hole in the world, in the confusion beyond it that turned to pain every time another spirit was pulled toward and then through it. Their pain was hers, pulsing with the beat of her heart, and she knew them all as they were corrupted. Command and Pride and Curiosity and Wisdom and even one that called itself Wanderlust. And then they were gone, even Pride and Desire twisted as they were pulled through. Pride hadn't been that awful horned beast before it came through but that was what fell upon the people who waited beside the rift that had caught it. Desire had been a gentle thing, searching for an experience to enjoy. But once pulled through it wanted only to return, and when those it came across could not help it knew only how to destroy them. Even those with demon names were not demons until their purpose was denied and they were twisted by pain.

A hand gripped her shoulder and dragged her from that other awareness. The agony faded and Cassandra's face swam into view. Concern, or perhaps suppressed fear, pulled at her lips and eyes as she hauled Salshira to her feet.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” she said, as though that was supposed to make sense.

They pressed on, and this time Salshira refused to look at her hand and the mark on it. Instead she investigated her clothing. She hadn't looked at it much before, when she was panicked or when Solas was interrogating her. She'd fallen asleep on accident shortly after, and woke to Cassandra's return, her determination that they must go to the breach and see if she could fix it. A ragged leather pauldron on her left shoulder, the leather guard on her left arm, and a supple leather glove on her right hand made up the entirety of her armor. All of it seemed old and worn but well cared for, and showed signs of repair. Her clothing was worse off than the leather, cotton shirt and pants that might have once been green long since faded to dingy gray. The foot wraps seemed oddly new, however, clean gray linen without fraying or tears. It seemed strange that those were so much nicer than the rest of what she wore.

The bridge was different, no slightly off rendering to give away which blocks would fall, and it was much further away than the game suggested, but she recognized it all the same. Cassandra ploughed on ahead and she had a moment to be grateful that she was following instead of leading, which made more sense anyway, because she was able to stop just a few steps upon the bridge and watch with a strange sense of expectation and terror as a giant block of green  _ something _ smashed into the middle of the bridge as expected. On instinct she turned her face away, crouched with her arms over her head, and shielded herself from the rubble. The destruction was impressive and when the big stones settled and she looked up the bridge was gone all the way to her toes. She peered over the edge curiously. “Seeker? Still alive down there?” she called, thankful for the shock she was still in that kept her voice steady and quieted her heart.

A few seconds felt like eternity, but there could be no way that Cassandra was dead already. They weren't even past the prologue yet, after all. And then she heard that accented voice she knew all too well. “Get down here!” Cassandra called, coughing stone dust out of her lungs. “We must find another way up!”

Salshira sighed and began to pick her way down to the frozen river, the water hardened all the way to the river bed by the intense cold of the mountain. It was probably winter, she mused, considering that they couldn't be that high up yet. High enough to feel it in her lungs, but too low for eternal winter.

She muttered as she climbed down, low enough that perhaps she went unheard. “Or you could find another way down, nothing stopping you from going on ahead. I'll just go the other way, maybe take the high road, find a library so I can figure out what the fuck all this is. But no, sure, I'll just climb down the shattered bridge to the frozen river and we can keep going  _ towards _ the thing that just hurled what  _ might have been _ some sort of rock at us and hope that I can follow the narrative well enough to figure out how to close it. Let's just do that and hope no one kills me by accident or design along the way. My welcome has been  _ so _ warm, after all.”

Her little tirade ended as her toes met ice and she grimaced when she realized it didn't even feel cold to her. Elvhen feet, apparently, were more or less immune to the elements. Cool, but also disconcerting and contributing to her increasing sense of dysphoria and the alien quality of what seemed to be her body. When she joined Cassandra the Seeker was huffing a bit as she pulled her armor straight, and then her eyes traveled down Salshira to rest on her toes. She had a few false starts before she asked, a little awkwardly, “Will you be alright without proper shoes?”

_ Follow the narrative, _ Salshira told herself, and drew her shoulders back to seem taller. Always small, she felt shorter than ever as an elf, but there could be a thousand reasons for that. Still, she managed to look down her nose at the considerably taller woman as she said, “I'm not quite as  _ delicate _ as you shems.” The word was odd on her tongue, a bit of slang that didn't exist, but Cassandra's mouth tightened and she didn't express confusion so apparently it worked. She'd heard the term a million times in the games, had written it when roleplaying with her friends, but it had never passed her lips before, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

They began to move on when something on the ice began to bubble with strange colors, the sickly greens and blues of the Breach and the mark on her hand, and she had a moment to swear before a demon sprang from that odd discoloration. It was horrible, much worse than any render could ever be, cloaked in dripping shadows with claws that could pierce right through her and emerge on the other side, red and dripping with blood, a ghastly smile and glowing eyes that searched her soul, it seemed to reach for her. The stench of it was awful, rotten flesh and long illness and mold and stagnant water, and she retched as she staggered back a step.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra called as she drew her sword. She began a charge, but the demon still gazed at Salshira. She gazed back, curious, drawn by it somehow, like it wanted to ask her something. But then Cassandra got too close and it swiped those awful claws at her without warning. The connection was broken and it did its best to kill her. Salshira stayed back, but the ice began to bubble again, another demon.

“Fuck, shit, fucking fuck, this is the part of the prologue where I find a weapon,” Salshira muttered to herself. She looked back towards the collapsed bridge, as she was supposed to, and kept muttering. “There's no way a weapon survived that fucking explosion. What class even am I? The gloves suggest archery, and that would make sense for me because I'm good at it and it would keep me more or less away from these fucks. But no way did a bow survive that, much less a quiver-” No sooner as the words left her lips than she spotted exactly what she needed. She glowered at the bow and the half empty quiver beside it as she sprinted for it. Quiver crossed over her chest, arrow to the string, the draw weight seemed low but she pulled the string back to her ear and, in the moment that the demon formed, let it fly.

She'd done archery as a kid at camp, used a slingshot that a friend had gotten for his birthday, and outshot her peers at both things. An ex boyfriend had taught her to shoot a gun, which she hated, but his bow was very much the wrong size for her, a foot of difference in their height preventing her using it. But she'd learned to throw knives so they could do something together, and she'd always had good aim. Yet now it was different. Fear pounded in her blood and she hadn't used a bow in ages, but the arrow flew true and stuck through the demon’s head, the point out the back.

She stared in awe and horror, blank with shock for a moment as the demon roared in pain and clawed at the fletching. It didn't go down, however, so she knocked another arrow and tried to pick a target. Where was a demon weak? What part of it would hurt or kill it? If an arrow to the face didn't destroy it, what would? She didn't know, so she aimed for the heart, or at least where it should have been on a person, and let fly. Again the arrow struck true and thumped into something that was decidedly  _ not _ flesh. Some sort of green ooze dripped from the wound, eating through the arrow shaft, but the demon fell.

Cassandra was still fighting the first demon when the second returned to the goop it had come from. Salshira paced forward a few steps, knocked an arrow, and aimed for that same spot again. It hit where it was supposed to, and she saw Cassandra reel back as the demon screamed and disintegrated. Salshira sighed in relief when no more appeared, but then Cassandra's blade was pointed at her.

“Drop your weapon!” she commanded, sounding oddly strained and sort of terrified. “Now!”

Salshira’s hand tightened on the bow and her teeth clenched. She wanted to keep it because she was terrified, because Cassandra didn't know what she was doing any more than her prisoner did, but she also never wanted to do that again. She was running on adrenaline and desperation, and that would only last so long.

“Fine,” she ground out, but Cassandra had been waging her own internal battle at the same time.  _ Follow the narrative _ .

“Wait,” Cassandra relented. “You should have a weapon.” She gazed for a moment at the two melted demons and the charred arrows in the goo. “I cannot protect you.”

_ Then maybe you should have brought more people, Cass. You know, soldiers? _ Salshira thought, but didn't say. She'd always been full of bitter sarcasm, but she'd learned long ago how to bite her tongue on it. It didn't change the fact that she was definitely full of salt, spite, and sharp words, though.

She took a moment to dig through the rubble for some more useable arrows and dump the broken ones from her quiver. Evidently she wouldn't be getting most of them back since the demons seemed to destroy them by nature.

Cassandra shared some potions with her, but rather than the big bottles the game showed they were tiny tonics in little corked glass jars, clear as water but for a cloudy residue that settled on the bottom. They were meant to be shaken briefly before consumption, she was told, her confusion no doubt evident. They would deaden pain and increase endurance. She wondered if they were adrenaline boosters with some sort of narcotic in them. She wasn't surprised that they didn't really have healing properties, or at least not magical ones. Maybe some potions did, but they were likely to be expensive, rare, and/or not the sort of thing one would share with a prisoner currently on death row. They forged on ahead and Salshira kept her thoughts to herself, bow in hand. There was a long way to go yet, but she was increasingly desperate for a small, warm, dark place where she could be alone in the quiet and just try to deal for a while. Instead, she fought more demons with Cassandra as they made their way up the mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

The rift wasn't just a bit of semi-transparent green hovering in the air. She wasn't that lucky, of course. It was more than visual, it was everywhere, a feeling of walking through spiderwebs with every step the closer one got to the hole in the air. It wasn't just a bit of dense green surrounded by a torn bit of veil, either. It was a void, a lack, sort of like how she might have imagined a black hole to look if one could stare right into it. She could see the Fade on the other side, but it was sick and full of static and pain.

And it spat demons almost continuously. There were no waves of demons to take care of before a break in the chaos that could be used to close the rift, as the game said. Instead, another demon or two was all but thrown into their midst every few seconds. There was demon goo underfoot and blood and a lot of people had probably pissed themselves at some point during this fight because the whole area stank of it. And that was fair, some small corner of Salshira's mind that could still think said as she stood upon a crumbling wall and let instinct take over her arms and her bow.  _ I might piss myself, too, if I wasn't so numb. _ That tiny rational part of her wondered if this was shock, but couldn't be sure.

When enough of the demons had been destroyed, her arrows falling upon them like rain, she saw Solas sprint to her. She'd been watching him from the corner of her eye, the way he fought. It wasn't quite the same as the game, either, with the twirling staff occasionally slammed into the ground before twirling some more. Each spell had a different feel and a different movement, and he seemed to use his staff as an afterthought, as though he wasn't used to needing it. His spells crackled along the length of the wood and darkened parts of it, charring where he wasn't careful enough to mask how much power he really had.  _ Groggy Solas makes mistakes, _ she thought, and snickered even as she killed another demon.

In a brief lull where all the demons were occupied by the others he came to her, gestured for her to get off the wall she was using as high ground. She obliged and he grabbed her left arm, dropped his staff to charge the mark with some sort of energy that made it feel more focused, less panicky, if energy could panic. Then he yanked her forward and thrust her hand toward the rift, angled her wrist until the energy caught, arced between her and the rift. He was not gentle and the connection was not kind and she could not be like the Inquisitor in the game and stoically force the rift into obedience. That pain hit her again, the spirits who feared the rifts that sucked them through and even the Fade itself cried out as its wounds bled away its essence into the physical world. And all of that wrapped around her mind, demanded that she feel it, all of it, that she experience the pain that had nowhere else to go.

Finally, the connection broke as the rift closed and she nearly crumpled to the ground. She managed to catch herself, panting and shaking and nauseous, and gave herself just a moment before looking up and pulling herself together.

A glimpse at Solas's face revealed what she'd suspected would be there: disgust. He hated her. And he hid the expression away so fast that if she hadn't known better she would have thought she'd imagined it. Someone approached and Solas deftly slipped away to retrieve his fallen staff as her attention was captured elsewhere.

It was Varric who approached. It had to be, short and stocky and definitely a dwarf, with a short golden beard and dirty but probably gold hair that was pulled back from his face. What really gave him away, though, was the crossbow whose arms he was folding back so that he could tuck it into the holster across his back. He looked a lot less pretty, less handsomely rugged, and more… well, real. His nose had been broken, possibly recently as well as long ago, his stubble was more unkempt, and instead of revealing all that chest hair to the frozen mountain air he was so thoroughly bundled up that she wondered how fast he could actually move.

After a moment of the two of them staring at each other, her with curiosity and him with something approaching awe, the mark twinged again, pulling her attention away.  _ Follow the narrative. _

“What did you do?” she asked Solas after a few deep breaths seemed to calm the energy in her hand. He was firmly in the guise of helpful apostate and ducked his head modestly as he leaned slightly on his staff.

“ _ I _ did nothing,” he demurred, as she expected. But now she knew it was a lie. The game painted him as lying only by omission, but he'd done something to focus the raw energy she held. “The credit is yours.”

Still cradling her hand, she looked to where the rift had been. The air there was whole, smooth, as seamless as it was supposed to be. “How?” she murmured, a question she wanted to ask of everything that was happening, not just the rift.

The conversation happened as scripted, which rather surprised her. Everyone was dirty and tired and the soldiers who had been fighting the demons were mostly collapsed in relief, pain, or exhaustion. A few were marking the dead or cautiously poking at demon remains. Salshira wasn't sure if she was going to pass out or if she'd never sleep again, so she settled for allowing muscle memory and raw instinct to carry her through the conversation. She complimented Bianca and almost smiled as Varric’s face lit up. Oh, but he did love his crossbow that much.

They moved on, up the mountain, now four instead of two. She focused on her feet, watching her toes break through the snow and running the script through her mind as much as she could. She fought demons as they went, tried to listen to the conversation around her, Varric sassing Cassandra and Cassandra mostly trying to ignore him and Solas's soft and rare suggestions that always had to do with the task at hand. But she couldn't hear them, was growing further and further detached from herself, and her body was numb to her. Maybe it was the cold.

“You are Dalish, are you not?” Solas asked her, startling her from her thoughts about the prologue she was living. She looked up at him and his concern was clear; he'd noticed that she wasn't okay. How odd, for him to hate her and still try to bring her out of her funk. “Yet clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

The game’s script was neither to confirm nor deny her heritage, but she wasn't Dalish, didn't have the skills to pass herself off as such. But she also didn't have her story straight yet, not enough to know where to claim she was from. “What do you know of the Dalish?” she asked softly, her voice hoarse. Varric silently passed her a waterskin that she drank half of it gratefully. She hadn't realized she was thirsty, but she couldn’t remember if she’d had anything to drink since waking up in this place.

“I have traveled many places and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion,” Solas told her, an odd shadow on his face.

Salshira gave him a look.  _ May as well, _ she thought. “We are both of the same people,” she told him.

“The Dalish I met thought differently on the matter,” he said.

“Can't you elves just play nice?” Varric groaned. Salshira stopped in her tracks and turned to him. No, no way was she putting up with casual racism of any kind for any reason.

“Excuse me? As though dwarves are doing so much better? With rigid castes that lock people into their future at birth, children cast away into dust town for being born the wrong sex, and stubbornly holding onto traditions that no longer serve them? Or perhaps the surface dwarves do so much better? The Carta certainly is wealthy enough, as long as you don't mind the means by which they acquire their wealth. And not a single dwarf who has ever seen the sky is allowed to return to their ancestral home. Yes, that seems very nice, doesn't it? Your people are doing  _ so much better _ than the rest of us, aren't they?” She stared him down until he looked away, lips pressed into a thin line and looking thoroughly chastened, without even a witty retort. She noticed from the corner of her eye that both Cassandra and Solas were starting at her, Cass with shock and Solas with something approaching fascination. She ignored them all and marched ahead.

“Where did you learn so much about dwarven culture?” Solas asked her after a few more minutes of snowy climbing. She'd been perfectly prepared to return to her numb and silent climb, and she made a face as he engaged with her. “I thought the Dalish were primarily concerned with preserving their own culture rather than studying anyone else's.”

Salshira sighed heavily. “I'm not Dalish,” she muttered. “I like to read.” He looked at her curiously but she ignored him and he didn't ask anything further.

It took longer than it should have to realize that she probably had vallaslin, causing them to think she was Dalish. There was no other defining difference between Dalish and City elves that she knew of. She made a face again and resolved to find a mirror or something. She needed to know what her own face looked like anymore.

Every time the Breach spit more demons from the sky her hand had twinged. It was a little easier to manage since whatever Solas had done to focus the energy, but it hurt all the same. As did her shoulders, the strain of using a bow for so long beginning to ache. She was quite freaked out by how long it had taken for her to really feel it, though. Her endurance was something else, and she was both freaked out and grateful. But freaking out seemed to be her new norm, at least until she could figure out what was happening to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost track of how long my chapter was and actually ended up splitting what I have in progress. Probably going to post another chapter pretty soon. I hope so, anyway!


	4. Chapter 4

Chancellor Roderick was at least as greasy and weasley as she’d expected him to be. He glared at her with unrestrained hatred and went so far as to openly demand her head. Well, that was a bit more extreme than the game had been. Yet she managed to maintain a bored expression, years of customer service making it a lot easier for the insults and bloodlust to roll off her back.

It helped that Cassandra clearly wanted to hit him. It would have been funny to see him knocked on his ass, but it also wouldn’t have helped. And she got her way in the end, anyway, so it hardly mattered. He wouldn’t get to see her head roll, they needed her too much. She noticed Leliana in the background looking a lot more dangerous than Roderick could ever hope to achieve, the shadows of her cowl making the sharpness of her cheeks seem like knives.

The makeup of the game had all, naturally, been worn away. Leliana had seemed so soft and well-cared-for in pixels, but now it was obvious that she was a well-traveled, hard-lived woman who lived in a harsh world. Her lips were chapped and her cheeks were ruddy from the cold wind and Salshira could see the signs of past starvation around her eyes. And Cassandra’s tasteful smokey eye had been replaced with signs of sleep deprivation, the haggard look of a woman who had not rested since the explosion days ago. Even the chancellor looked different, greasy from sweat and pale, waxy, and a little green around the edges. This was not a man built for the sort of work he’d been forced to undertake, and she could almost forgive his hostility for that reason. But not quite.

She chose the mountain path because there was no way she’d survive a direct push. She was waning, her arms screaming and her legs beginning to shake from exertion. Whatever added endurance she’d been given wasn’t holding up to the trek all across the mountains and fighting demons at every turn. But she kept her spine straight as she left the forward camp, not a table on a bridge but a small yet sprawling encampment surrounded by pointed sticks as hastily erected defenses. A table on a bridge was the dumbest place for a camp, anyway. Not structurally sound, as her and Cassandra’s earlier tumble proved well enough, and not big enough for the wounded. This was better, made more sense.

Cassandra led the way up the mountain, scowling all the while, clearly displeased that Leliana was the one leading the charge instead of her. Salshira would have suggested that they could have traded places if she’d had the breath to spare, but she was beginning to lag behind, only Solas still behind her.

“Salshira,” he murmured when her feet would no longer take her forward another step and she stood there, trembling. “Here, drink this. It will restore your strength.” He held out a phial, bigger than the ones Cassandra had given her and glowing softly with some sort of magic. She frowned at it, then showed him one of the phials from her belt pouch that she’d forgotten until that moment. He shook his head and said, “Those will not be enough. You have only just awoken from a great physical and mental trauma. Please, take this one. If I wished to do you harm all I would need to do is nothing, so please trust my intentions.”

She met his gaze in surprise, having not really suspected him of foul play but lacking the breath to say anything one way or another. She knew his interest in keeping her alive, but she had to remind her exhaustion-hazed mind that she was the only one who knew that. Of course he would expect her to be wary of him. Or perhaps he thought she was wary of the fact that the potion he offered was glowing. But she took it from him and downed it in two gulps, then gasped as it took effect at once. The shaking in her limbs eased, her mind cleared, and though she was not fully restored she was able to keep moving.

“Ma serannas,” she mumbled to him, then felt rather like a fool when he tilted his head at her. She moved on, trying to catch up to the others who were so focused on their own climb that they hadn’t noticed the two of them lagging, and wondered how badly she’d butchered the pronunciation. Probably pretty badly, but it was too late now and she tried to ignore it.

The temple was horrific, when they reached it at last. They had to skirt around rock that had been thrown by the blast, liquified, and then flash frozen in horrible, threatening spikes. Some of it even glowed a sickly green, like the Fade had left a residue of some kind. A swift glance at Solas revealed only stoicism and none of his thoughts. 

When at last they found a way into the temple past the spikes, Salshira stopped in her tracks at what they found, bile rising to her throat. It was one thing to see a computer rendered image of twisted bodies mummified in the agony they’d died in, but it was entirely different to be immersed in it, to see the flesh flaking from bleached bone, to witness the way the corpses cried out for salvation. And the  _ smell. _ It was worse than death, worse than burn flesh. There was something rotten in it, beneath the scent of burning people, some sickly sweet nauseating scent of decay. She stumbled back a few steps and put her wrist over her mouth to try to keep herself from vomiting.

Cassandra had no time for her squeamishness, marching ahead with a closed expression, though careful to steer clear of the bodies. She turned to glare at Salshira until she followed. A glance at the others revealed a similar reaction to hers from Varric and an agony without words on Solas’s face. And guilt, which was hidden the instant he felt her eyes on him. Well, good to know he wasn’t unmoved.

Leliana didn’t show up to the Temple. No one did, and Salshira frowned in worry. Why was it different? What did it mean? So many deviations from what she expected… Maybe it really wasn’t a dream. That was less of a comfort than she might have expected.

“How do I even start to close that thing?” Salshira whispered as she gazed up at the Breach. Yet another thing that wasn’t as advertised, the hole in the world was terrifying, huge, and offered a glimpse into what lay beyond it. Twisting masses that might have been rocks moved across the other side, and the occasional demonic screeching filtered down to them to raise the fine hairs on the back of her neck. And vaguely, at the edges, if she didn’t quite look right at it, she could see what almost seemed to be a massive, black, and twisted palace floating among the rocks. Was it the Black City? It was  _ right there _ and she felt like she could almost touch it.

“This rift was the first,” Solas said, interrupting her thoughts, “and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.” She followed his gaze to the rather smaller rift that fed into the Breach and seemed to lend its energy. It was still huge, bigger than the other three rifts she’d closed already, but it was also smaller than the Breach itself. Was that even a comfort?

“Right. Then I guess we should get a little closer,” she said, and started trying to pick her way around so she wouldn’t have to jump down two stories of rock. There had to be a better way down, like in the game. Unfortunately, she had discovered that the proximity requirement to seal a rift persisted from the game. She had to be close enough that gazing into it had the potential to make her lose herself in it before the energy would connect to her hand. That seemed odd. Why would something that belonged to the Fade be constrained by something as arbitrary and concrete as distance? But mostly she just didn’t want to admit that she’d rather not get that close to the rifts. She didn’t like looking at them, didn’t like that she would feel like she was being drawn through it as she did. And she especially hated the act of closing them, of feeling all the pain that had caused it and been caused by it before it would leave the world. If there was a way to mitigate that feeling, she hadn’t found it.

As she watched her feet and the ledge for an easier way down, she slowly became aware of a soft sound, a sweet singing at the very edge of her hearing with whispers even softer beneath it. She frowned as she tried to listen harder, to make sense of the sounds, but then she looked up and stopped in her tracks in dread.

It looked like crystals the color of blood sprouting from the ground, and the singing undeniably originated there. With the gift of her hearing came the ability to pinpoint sound, and she knew it was the crystals singing. The whispers were harder to place, however, and seemed to float everywhere around them. She approached a crystal slowly to see if the sound would change, but the singing grew louder while the whispering didn’t.

Suddenly, Varric grabbed her arm. She looked down at him in confusion but his gaze was fixed on the red crystal she’d been approaching, his face pinched in worry. He was sweating.

“You know this is red lyrium, Seeker?” he said, and his voice was level somehow.

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra replied, scowling at it.

“But what’s it  _ doing _ here?” Varric asked, now sounding strained.

“It is possible that magic drew on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it,” Solas offered, making Varric enter into a tirade of muttered curses.

“Bah! It’s evil. Nobody touch it,” he said at last, releasing Salshira’s arm.

Salshira nodded to him. No way was she going to touch it, and getting nearer was also a bad idea, so she returned to trying to find a safe way down. But no sooner had she taken a step than the air began to shiver, then soundlessly pound against her chest. She resisted the urge to curl up as small as possible and waited for it to pass.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” came the great booming voice, resonating through the ruins and reverberating in her ribcage. “Bring forth the sacrifice.”

_ Oh, great, _ she thought to herself. _ An instant replay. _ Except what would it show of her? She knew what it was supposed to say, what was supposed to be seen here. But she also knew what she’d experienced, where she’d come from, and she hadn’t existed before falling out of the rift. Right?

Whatever. She moved on and managed to spot a set of mostly intact stairs that would take her where she needed to go while the recording kept up it’s snippets.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone help me!”

“That was Divine Justinia’s voice! What is happening here?” Cassandra demanded. Salshira didn’t even bother to look at her as she tried not to look at the rift and find the furthest distance she could make the attempt from.

“What’s going on here?” another voice demanded, cautious and questioning and far too familiar. She stopped in her tracks, then shivered as the energy changed, drawing her to look around.

The shadowy shapes formed, the Divine being held aloft by five indistinct shadows, a much more horrifying shadow looming over, huge and with blazing eyes. A door that no longer existed in the ruin burst open and then Salshira had the strangest experience of seeing someone who was both her and not approach them in spectral form. Elvhen in body and features, but still oddly like her. Yet also not. She frowned when she noticed that the eyebrow ring that she was definitely wearing wasn’t there, that the eyes didn’t seem to be green, that the hair maybe wasn’t blonde. The details were different, but the voice was hers, and she didn’t know what to think.

Cassandra started yelling at her as soon as the vision faded, demanding explanations, but she didn’t even look away from where the image of herself-but-not had faded. There had been vallaslin, true enough. A modded version she’d liked for her game, based on some old concept art and meant to represent Mythal. Was that on her face, in a distinct splash of color across her forehead and nose?

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas told them, his voice oddly soft and almost reverent. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He approached her and stepped between her and Cassandra, despite her huff of annoyance. He took her hand and gently touched the mark, seemed to charge it again. “This will likely be harder than the ones before,” he warned her softly.

She looked at him, surprised by his gentleness. “I know. I’ll do everything I can,” she promised. And only once the words were out did she realize that she meant them.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, then gave herself to the rift. She approached it, got a lot closer than necessary in the hope that it would help make the connection stronger. And the moment she held out her hand to it the energy arced, connected.

And the agony hit her like a truck. It was like getting struck by lightning, if lightning was malicious and felt a need to torture her. It was alive, and it was afraid, and it was angry, and it spat curses at her as it tried to rip her to shreds. And she screamed, but she couldn’t hear it over the shrieking of terrified spirits and the groaning of shifting earth and the crashing of huge rocks colliding. All of it tried to smash her, crush her, burn her away as though she were the cause of all this pain, but she tried to hold her ground, to push back. She tried to tell it that she was there to help, that she meant only to heal this tear between worlds so it didn’t cause any of them pain any longer. Interestingly, something seemed to be listening, but it was too little too late and she was drowning, suffocating, the flesh peeling from her body.

The last thing she remembered before everything went black was the whispered apology of something on the other side. And then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted right on the tail of chapter three because I'm bad at time management, I guess. Make sure you've read chapter three!


	5. Chapter 5

Salshira woke with a groan, then sat up much too fast when she heard a gasp and then something shatter. She pressed a hand against the sudden spiking pain in her head and tried to find the source of the disturbance. A young-looking elf was cautiously backing away from the bed she was laying in, looking strangely alarmed.

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” they said, twisting their hands together.

“It only just happened,” she tried to soothe, but her voice was gravely and it sounded like she was growling at the poor kid. She tried to cough to clear her throat but it only made her head hurt more.

“Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened,” the nervous elf stammered out, still backing away slowly. “She said, at once!”

“Is she in the Chantry?” Salshira asked, accepting the fact that she couldn’t lay back down for a few more minutes, no matter how badly she wanted to.

“Yes, with the Lord Chancellor,” the elf said. “At once, she said!” And then they were gone, all but sprinting away. Salshira sighed heavily.

_ Time to become the Herald of Andraste. Oh, goody. I have a feeling I’ll prefer being hated… _

Standing from the bed, she realized her clothes had been changed. Not only had her armor been removed, but everything she’d been wearing beneath it was gone, replaced with a simple shirt she was pretty sure was cotton that all but drowned her and some pants that were both too long and too wide, clearly on loan. She sighed, annoyed that she’d be accepting her position looking like she’d stolen someone’s laundry. She brushed her hair forward over her shoulder and off her neck and was relieved that at least it seemed like it had been washed for her and felt clean instead of stiff and sticky with sweat and probably demon goo. _Oh, wait, who had me naked? Yuck…_ _Anyway._ She shook herself out and ran her fingers through her hair to try to straighten it before noticing a comb on a little table beside the bed she’d woken up in and using that. She spent a moment looking around for some shoes before rolling her eyes at herself and remembering that she didn’t need them anymore. She shrugged and looked instead for a coat or a cloak or anything, but didn’t find that, either. The cabin was utterly bare of anything except the bed, an empty desk, an empty chest, and the shattered potion the nervous elf had dropped. She scowled and considered wrapping herself in a blanket from the bed, but sadly and mistakenly decided that she had too much pride for that and headed out.

Sunlight was torture on her headache and she spent a few moments just standing there trying to open her eyes. She could feel that she was being watched and could hear the murmuring of people nearby, and by the time she managed to see through the pain she’d gathered a bit of a crowd. She pressed her lips together and mostly tried to ignore them as she headed for the Chantry. Even though she hadn’t seen much of Haven before, the building she needed was easy to find because it towered over all the others. And it helped that she’d woken in a little cottage that was quite close to it.

People whispered as she passed, but she did her best to ignore them as she shaded her poor, sensitive eyes and made her way through town, hiking up her shirt to try to make it stay on both shoulders a few times. Eventually she had to deal with the fact that it wasn’t going to. It was also cold enough out that she wondered if the lack of a coat or anything resembling one in her cabin was on purpose or just an oversight. Did they still hate her enough to make her walk around in borrowed clothing and without anything thicker to keep her warm? Maybe.

She finally arrived at the Chantry and shoved a door open enough to slip inside, shivering for a moment at the sudden change in temperature.  _ Surprise, surprise. The Chantry is the warmest building in town. Does everyone have to make a donation to their firewood? I wonder if there’s a tax to keep this building maintained. Oh, look, I already hate it! _ She scowled as she looked around at the fine though small carvings of religious scenes, reminded to an uncomfortable degree of Catholicism. Which, of course, was the whole point of the Chantry in the game, but didn’t make her any less uncomfortable having to live it. She’d given up the religion of her family when she was six and she had no desire to be indoctrinated back into it.

As she ventured deeper after closing the door she began to hear the expected yelling of Roderick and Cassandra from the closed room at the back of the building, behind all the pews and the altar. Which, now that she thought of it, had been suspiciously missing in the game. Why hadn’t the Chantry in Haven looked like an actual church, the way that all the rest of them did in the rest of the game? Well, whatever the reason, it had been changed in… she hesitated to call it reality, but in reality. She made her way down the center aisle, robed sisters and plainclothed townsfolk alike peering at her in awe from the edges of the room. She adjusted the shoulder of her borrowed shirt again, feeling self-conscious.

She leaned against the doorway to the back room without interrupting the two yelling zealots, listening curiously. It was just the script, though, nothing new, except that once it was done they kept getting louder and it was just thinly-veiled insults getting thrown back and forth until she threw the door open. The two Templars who had been standing in the room looked surprised to see her, as she was surprised to see them. They were armored rather magnificently, designed to intimidate, and that seemed on brand. They also wore some rather magnificent cloaks over their leather-lined plate armor and looked to be sweating in the heat of the room.

“Chain her!” Roderick barked, pointed an accusing and shaking finger at Salshira. “I want her prepared for travel to the Capital immediately!” She raised a brow. Wow, he really didn’t see her a person, did he?  _ Like I’m a sack of flour that needs to get thrown into a cart. Fuck this guy… _

She tipped her chin at the nearest Templar, who didn’t even twitch to attempt to follow the order. “Hey,” she rasped, throat as dry as her tone. “Can I borrow your cloak?” She was still shivering, but she gave less than fifty-fifty odds of actually getting the cloak from him.

She would have lost that bet if it had been made because he whipped the cloak off at once and even went so far as to gently wrap it around her. She looked at him in surprise, brows raised. “Thanks,” she told him, and he gave her a little smile.

“Disregard that order,” Cassandra said at last, sounding like she was going to start laughing. “And leave us.” The Templars saluted her and bowed to Salshira as they left. She sighed happily as her bones stopped aching from the cold, snuggling into the fur-lined cloak that was so big on her it dragged on the floor.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick growled, and Salshira couldn’t help snorting.

She spotted a pitcher and some cups behind what was probably going to become the War Table soon and headed for it as she said, “Your position isn’t nearly as powerful or influential as you think it is, Chancellor.” She sniffed the pitcher and made a face. Wine, but weak. And red. She poured enough for a mouthful into a cup to taste, wondering if tannins were still a thing she had to worry about. Her brows shot up when it tasted good, like mixed berries and just a gentle sensation of alcohol on the back of her tongue. Oh shit, Thedas wine was good? She poured herself a much bigger glass and carried it back over to the table where there were a few maps and papers laid out that she hardly bothered to glance at. She hadn’t looked at her hand since she woke up, and at the moment she didn’t want to.

“You are a plague!” Roderick shrieked at her, and she rolled her eyes. “You caused all this, murdered the Divine, and now you corrupt the Templars!”

“Blah, blah, no one is more important than you and you deserve everything the world has to offer, I know,” she drawled, leaning on the table because she was still tired and it served the double purpose of making her look even less interested in him. Leliana, who had been lurking in the shadows in a corner of the room, snickered.

Roderick was red with rage, but before he could spew more nonsense Cassandra slammed down a thick book and had her speech about the writ from the Divine. Roderick left in a huff and Salshira raised her glass to his departure before finishing it off. That wine was dangerous, and it would be all too easy to get trashed on accident. But at least her throat was wet now. She set the cup aside instead of getting more wine as Cassandra made her offer.

She stared off into space for a few moments, wondering if any of this was even real, then looked at her hand. The mark was calm at last, just an oddly colored scar across her palm, and she didn’t attempt to look past it this time. Then she looked up at Cassandra and said, “The rifts are a problem only I seem to be able to fix. I hate that, I won’t lie. But I also can’t leave knowing that I can close them.” It was a lot more true than she really wanted to admit, and though her main reason for staying was still the narrative being the only familiar thing in the whole freaking universe the rifts were a close second. They were horrifying and terrible and she’d never seen people die before. But now she had and it was awful. It needed to stop.

They shook hands, and the cutscene, obviously, didn’t trigger. What happened instead was that a runner was summoned to fetch the blacksmith and the best seamstress in Haven because she couldn’t be allowed to run around in borrowed clothes and patched armor now that she was more or less the face of the new Inquisition. Then they went through some of the reports, discussed Mother Gizelle’s invitation, and went through some of the Inquisition’s current resources and needs.

“I’ve sent scouts into the Hinterlands to locate rifts and assess the situation,” Leliana said as the seamstress took her measurements for both herself and the blacksmith, who was late. “The reports they send are concerning. There are over a dozen rifts already spotted, and who knows how many more that haven’t been found. The Hinterlands are vast and sprawling and full of wilderness, and it could take months to find all the rifts let alone close them.”

“What choice do we have?” Salshira asked as she wrapped the cloak around herself again, the seamstress done. “We have to close them.”

She allowed the seamstress to interrupt and ask about styles, but all Salshira could do was shrug and tell her she liked to be able to move without restriction and couldn’t stand having her collar right at her throat. She left the rest up to her expert decision. The seamstress was glowing with pride when she left and Salshira blinked after her, bemused.

The blacksmith arrived at almost the same time as two others who could only be Cullen and Josephine. He was given the seamstress’s measurements to add to his books as her other two advisors were introduced to her.

Cullen was not quite as put together as he seemed digitally. His hair was rather messier, like he’d just gotten up from a nap, and his cloak was wrinkled. But his armor was perfectly cared for, his gloves supple and soft looking. The scar on his lip was a bit more jagged than she’d expected, but otherwise he was quite the same.

Josephine was elegant and refined. Her nails were clean and trimmed, her hands soft, her clothes perfect. A subtle and spicy perfume wafted from her skin and though her eyes were shadowed with the weight of all that lay before them she smiled and was very friendly and very, very pretty.

“Andaran atish’an,” she greeted, and Salshira raised a brow and didn’t reply. She wondered if Elvhen was the only language in which Josie had learned nothing but a formal greeting. Was she multilingual or just really good at saying hello?

The introductions passed swiftly, initial banter rather boring despite the alarming state of the mage-Templar war, the blacksmith adding more measurements to the ones the seamstress had taken. He measured all ten of her fingers and the length of her palms, took individual measurements of her forearms and biceps as well as calves and thighs, and even measured the length and width of her neck. She found it odd that he was being so thorough, but didn’t comment.

“Come by later and we’ll find you a proper bow,” he said as the meeting broke up. “I’ve got several ready and waiting, I’m sure we can find one that works for you. I’ll have your gear ready as soon as I can, but it’ll be a few days.”

“Thank you, Harritt,” she told him with a polite smile. He didn’t fawn like the seamstress, but he did seem to stand straighter.  _ Ew, worship… _

 

***

When she returned to her cabin it was early evening. She didn’t know how to tell time by the sun, but it was getting low, nearing dusk, and that meant evening. And suddenly her room had more things. Firewood was stacked by the fireplace with a couple of rocks that were probably flint set beside a basket of tinder, and she was so grateful that she’d have some heat in the ice cold room that she could have cried. A set of clothes were waiting on the lid of the chest at the foot of the bed, and the chest had extra blankets under a fur-lined hooded cloak that would actually fit her better than the one she’d borrowed. In a corner away from the fire there was also a weird cross-like contraption that she stared at suspiciously for quite a while until it occurred to her that she was getting armor made and would have to put it somewhere. She’d seen armor stands before, mostly in games or on the internet, but it looked like a very simple version of one.

Gratefully, she investigated the new clothes before pulling them on. The bra was a strapless band of linen that took her a little too long to identify, but when she did she made a face. Not much support to be had without straps, but she’d take what she could get and it was easier because her breasts were smaller since her body was more athletic now. She didn’t have to worry about feeling like her chest would fall off when she went down a flight of stairs without a bra. The shirt was linen, warmer than the cotton, and there was a wool vest to wear over it. Pants were linen and thick and had laces instead of buttons or anything. She’d have to get used to not having zippers. And everything fit her better than anything she’d ever bought before. Custom clothing was great, apparently. She pulled the cloak on over it all and felt oddly majestic - cloaks were so cool - as she headed out in search of food and something to drink.

 

***

The whispers of Herald and Andraste were already getting on her nerves by the time she’d eaten a bowl of stew at the tavern, sharing her table with Varric. He did a good job of distracting her, but she’d probably been noticeably uncomfortable the whole time. She thanked him for his company once her stomach was full, and though he stayed for some ale she decided she wanted to wander through town a bit. She’d also made a decision to never ever get drunk.  _ I hate being a chatty drunk. It means that now I can never be drunk at all! Too many damn secrets… Ugh! _ So instead she avoided the alcohol and went for a walk.

Her new cloak was really lovely, with thick cloth and soft fur and very cozy. She pulled the hood up over her long ears, which got cold even faster than before, and marveled that her feet didn’t seem affected by the temperature at all. Her steps took her up toward the Chantry, but she veered away from it with a grimace and found instead a small group of cabins beside it. One of them, with a smoking chimney and a painted image of what seemed to be a cauldron on the door, smelled of herbs and strange substances, and she wondered if it was the apothecary. She hoped that she could learn about Thedas’s plants, learn how to work them into recipes she remembered for lotions and teas that she’d used back home.  _ Homemade is always better, after all. _

Movement caught her eye before she could head for that door and she turned to find Solas dressed for warmth and seated on a low stone wall that overlooked a good chunk of Haven. He had a book on his lap and a lump of charcoal in his hand and she wondered if he was sketching. He met her eyes as she stood there until it felt awkward enough that she was driven to approach him.

He gave her a small, slightly sarcastic smile. “The chosen of Andraste, blessed hero sent to save us all,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with reflected light in the growing gloom, the setting sun disappearing behind buildings at his back.

She cocked a hip and pursed her lips. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?” she asked, with sarcasm to match.

“I would have suggested a gryphon,” he demurred. “But sadly they’re extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” He gazed out over the town, his mien serious. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits class to reenact the bloody past in wars both famous and forgotten.” He paused for a moment and she marveled that he actually, genuinely talked like that. The rhythm of his words flowed over her, his silken voice attempting to lull her into a sense of ease with him.  _ Oh hell no! I am not falling for him, not when he’s actually right here and I can physically touch him. If this is a dream or if this is real, I’m not risking it. Getting my heart ripped out in fiction is fun, but not when it can actually hurt. _ Yet as he turned to look at her again she couldn’t help the way her heart flipped just once at the intensity of his gaze. “Every great war has its heroes,” he continued. “I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

She hesitated, gazing at him, but she wouldn’t play dumb. The dialogue options for this scene were for those who hadn’t been as deep in the lore as she was, and she didn’t need them. “Are you a Dreamer, then? To be exploring the Fade and visiting memories?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

He straightened subtly and surprise flashed across his face. “Yes,” he admitted. “Somniari, our people call it.”  _ Our people? _ Salshira thought. “I can control my dreams and interact safely with spirits in the Fade. They show me things most people could not imagine.”

She let just a little of the awe she felt the idea of it creep into her tone. “That must be incredible.” The idea of seeing Thedas’s history in her sleep appealed to the scholar in her bones.

The curiosity in his face was hard not to notice. “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons,” he continued. She let a corner of her mouth tilt up. “Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” He turned once more to gaze out at Haven. The last of the torches were being lit as the sun truly set and from this spot both above and removed from the town it seemed to Salshira like they were looking at a village full of ants. She wondered if that was the point of this spot for Solas. “I will stay, then. At least until the Breach is sealed.”

“Was that in doubt?” she asked, tilting her head curiously and losing the thread of the script to her own questions, forgetting what was written for her and what she wanted to say.

He looked at her rather sharply. “I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

She watched his face for a few moments before she said, “You’ve helped us, and as you said, I have some power here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“How would you stop them?” he asked, challenging her, but she raised her chin.

“However I had to,” she asserted, before realizing that she’d just inadvertently used the romance dialogue.  _ Fucking shit. I’m trying  _ not _ to fall for him, remember? Ugh. _ It was time to bow out before she got herself into any more trouble.

“Thank you,” he said softly, sounding like he meant it. She ducked her head and looked away.

“I’m tired,” she admitted, and it was all too true. “I think I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep well,” he murmured as she retreated from him.


	6. Chapter 6

Salshira was still recovering from her failed attempt to close the Breach, and she all but tumbled into her cabin. She sighed heavily and rubbed her face before trying to figure out how to light a fire. She’d been camping as a kid, and her cousins had a fire pit that she’d seen built. But mostly she’d seen gasoline used and wasn’t sure how much tinder would be needed to start a fire. She stacked a few logs, made sure they could get enough oxygen, and stuffed tinder in loosely. Then she banged her rocks together until she figured out the best way to produce sparks, then sparked her rocks at the wood until something caught. She held her breath, but the spark guttered out almost at once. She sighed and tried again, and this time when the spark caught she blew very gently on it until the tinder caught properly. Then she sat back and more or less zoned out as her fire started, until she realized that the tinder was going to burn up before the logs properly caught fire, and she had to scramble, swearing, to feed more tinder to her fire before she had to start all over. She burned her fingers a couple times before remembering that she had some handy little fire tools  _ right fucking there _ to use, but eventually she had a proper fire crackling in the hearth.

She stayed there in front of the flames until she was properly warm again, until the heat had started to ward off the chill in the cabin, until her nose was warmed and running. She went digging through her new stuff until she found the little square of cloth, belatedly figuring out that it was a handkerchief, and blew her nose. She made sure all her shutters were secured before she began to undress for bed, then crawled under her blankets with a grateful groan. She’d done little that day except talk to people and go on a very brief walk, but she ached down to her bones and hoped she’d recover properly soon.

Despite her fatigue, sleep was hard to come by. She realized as she thought over the events of the day and what had happened since she’d fallen out of that portal that she needed to write down as much as she possibly could remember about the game so that she wouldn’t forget as time passed. Maybe she’d wake up at home soon, but maybe not, and she’d rather be prepared. She needed to remember, needed details, or else she just knew she’d get a lot of people killed. She’d seen enough death to last a lifetime already, and it was barely beginning.

 

* * *

Sleep found her mid-thought as she was going over In Hushed Whispers in her mind, but it was not the retreat she’d been expecting. She sat up with a choked gasp and gazed around herself in confusion, wondering for a moment if she was home again.

But no, the walls of her apartment were distorted, like she was trapped on the wrong side of a funhouse mirror, and all the colors were just a little bit off. The pictures on her walls weren’t the ones that she’d hung and the mattress she was sitting on wasn’t a thick memory foam on the floor but instead it was the bed she’d just fallen asleep on in Haven. The blanket was the red fleece she’d left tossed to the side her last morning on earth, but the texture of it felt wrong even as she moved it aside to stand up.

The sight of her body wavered, making her nauseous, and she flickered between small and athletic elf and her old chubby human self. It was so disorienting that she was forced to look away before she was sick, but the room wasn’t much better. She got her feet under her and stood, but as soon as she was no longer in bed the scene around her shifted, the bedroom disappearing, and she found herself standing in the bottom of a stone coliseum. The stands were filled with glowing, wavering figures that seemed to whisper about her right at her ears, that jeered at her and sneered at her, that critiqued who she was so disdainfully that her stomach knotted even though she couldn’t quite hear any of them.

“Is this the Fade?” she whispered to herself, turning in circles to see the crowd of what she could only assume were spirits. She stopped after a moment, but the spinning continued, then sped up until she was so dizzy that she fell.

The scene changed again, cracked pavement under her bare feet, and she looked up at tall buildings that seemed to blow in the breeze. The sunlight glancing off the windows was so distorted it seemed to rain on her like knives, painful to look at, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

When she opened them again she was somewhere else, somewhere she’d never been, standing in a field of tall grass surrounded by trees older than she could possibly imagine. Books seemed to sit upon the edges of the grass as though it was a table and little balls of colored light flitted here and there. It didn’t make her sick to exist there, and she let herself sigh heavily in relief.

A green, glowing head snapped up at the sound of her sigh, then tilted curiously. The spirit approached and Salshira took a step back, but even the spirit didn’t make her sick like the others had. It made no move to harm her and all she could sense around it was interest, a desire to learn.

“Oh, what are you?” it whispered, but it didn’t speak any language she knew. “Something different, something  _ new. _ Do you even belong here, little one?”

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted.

“You are afraid,” it observed, and its voice had changed. The scene warped before her eyes, twisted from that serene meadow filled with books and curiosity to something damaged, ravaged by war, the trees ablaze and the grass half trampled. The spirit that reached for her no longer felt harmless, and she gasped as she stumbled back but it caught her. “You are something different and you have so much fear.” Its voice deepened further and further until she thought she might almost recognize it. “What do you fear, little bird? You flit here and there and you never feel at home. You fear to stay and you fear to leave and fear the roots you’ve always resisted. Ah, but is there anything you don’t fear? Not by the time I’m through with you.”

The spirit became nothing but a yawning void, endless darkness like the space between stars, and she fell into it. She fell further and further and further until she started screaming and then-

Salshira woke with a thump as she fell off the bed. She panted for breath, little screams she hardly voiced escaping her as she scrambled back until she hit her head on the table beside her bed. Shaking, terrified, she squeezed her head between her hands before trying to find her bearings.

She was in Haven, and she was certain she was awake. Nothing was twisted or distorted, and her hip hurt from where she’d landed on it and her head hurt from the hard edge of the table, and her toes were cold despite the fire, which was beginning to burn low. After a few more moments of trying to calm her racing heart, she detangled herself from the blanket that had followed her down and added a couple more logs to her fire so it wouldn’t go out.

Trembling, unwilling to go back to sleep, she wrapped herself in blankets and sat in front of the fire to pass the night in a tired haze, wondering what the hell was wrong with her dreams.

 

* * *

Salshira was given three more days to recover from her ordeal before it was time to leave for the Hinterlands and the meeting with Mother Giselle. Mostly, that time was being used to prepare and to make her gear, which was only finished in time because it was worked on night and day by very devoted craftsmen. When the day they were meant to leave dawned she was sitting before her fire wrapped in a blanket, having not slept a wink in days, and absentmindedly greeted the messenger that told her it was time to gear up and go. She did her best, but she stumbled on her way to the blacksmith and had to rub her face briskly in order to even pretend at wakefulness.

Her armor was leather that had metal plates stitched into strategic spots, designed to be lightweight and maneuverable. To her surprise, Harritt had taken her elf’s body into consideration when he designed her gear, and rather than actual shoes she had leather-lined metal plates that protected the tops of her feet but had no soles, just a strap to go around the middle of her foot to keep them in place. If she angled her toes just right, she could deliver a pretty powerful kick with it, too, like she was wearing steel-toed boots.

Even her quiver was armored, securely strapped to her waist and right thigh with studded leather. On the belt there were several pouches, some meant for potions, one with extra bow strings and tools to care for her bow, and one filled with carefully organized throwing knives that she was impressed with and quite unsure if she was capable of using.  _ Well, I’m apparently pretty good with a bow, so why not these? Same concept, right? _

“So, Harritt,” she mused conversationally as she ran her hands over the smooth dark wood of her new bow. She’d picked it out a few days ago, one that felt like the right height and that felt good when she drew the string back and which Harritt had approved of. But looking at her pouch of bow care tools had told her that she had no idea what to do with it except for how to fire. “This is a lovely bow. I want to make sure I take care of it properly. Would you walk me through the steps?”

He glanced at her from the table he was at, adjusting a glove that was a little crooked in one of the fingers. “I’m sure however you usually take care of a bow will do just fine,” he grunted, somewhat dismissive. She fought not to cringe.

“Sure, but every bow is different,” she continued, trying to sound casual. “And this bow is going to be doing a lot more hard labor than my last.”  _ Which I owned for about a day. _ “So I just really want to make sure my care techniques are up to your standards.”

It was the right thing to say, appealing to his sense of pride in his work. He handed the glove to one of his apprentices and shuffled over, unbuckling the care pouch from her belt to lay it out before her on the table. He showed her the way he wanted her to string the bow, made sure she could do it right, explained how to wax the string, how and when to wax the bow itself, how frequently he wanted her to use a new string and the signs to look for when it was time. He even explained what things he was asking for that were specific to the fact that she would be using her bow frequently at times and always had to be ready. He even went over arrow care, which was not something she’d even thought to ask about, but he showed her to care for the fletching, how to sharpen arrows after use, how to clean arrows she retrieved after use. He was so thorough that she didn’t even have questions for him when he was done, and though some of it was a little patronizing she was still grateful for the knowledge. And she filed away in her mental notebook the fact that it was easy to get information out of Harritt if she implied that he knew best.

Once she was properly geared up, her thick leather archery gloves in place, she went to see Leliana one last time while the horses were being saddled..

“So, spymaster. Any last advice before we’re off?” Salshira asked, leaning casually the doorframe to Leliana’s tiny office.

The redhead looked up with a smile. “I’ve made you a list actually,” she said, and Salshira raised a brow. “Here, these are places you might find help or shelter. And this page is places to avoid. I hope it helps.” 

Salshira took the pages and looked down at them, then just stood there in shocked confusion for a while, trying to figure out what was happening.  _ Oh, fuck, fuckity fuck, FUCK! _ She chanted her frustration silently while keeping her face mostly straight, but some of her tension must have shown anyway.

“Is something wrong with it, Salshira?” Leliana asked, and Salshira pressed her lips together as she looked at the other woman.

“Uh. Not… exactly?” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m sure the list is fine. I just… can’t… read it.”  _ It had to be those runes that show up on the books in game, not the actual fucking language we’re all speaking that I get to see everywhere else. No, it’s the runes. Which I can’t read! Great… _

“You… can’t read?” Leliana repeated, looking shocked, and Salshira glanced away as she felt her face burn. “I’m sorry. Um, you can give them to Cassandra. And… do you have any objection to learning to read? I’m afraid it might be very useful later on.”

“No objection,” she said, her voice small. “I need a teacher, but I’ll learn.”

“Of course,” Leliana mused, looking like her mind was already five problems ahead.

They stood there awkwardly for a few more moments before Salshira turned stiffly and returned to where the others waited by the horses. She shoved the papers at Cassandra, her face still flaming. “From Leliana,” she told her. “Places to find help and places to avoid. You’re in charge of it.” Cassandra blinked her confusion but didn’t protest.

 

* * *

Horses were lovely, and Salshira had always adored them. They were smart and strong and loyal and they could even be kind. But these horses didn’t deserve that praise. They were old and tired and stubborn and more inclined to stop for a snack than keep following the trail. It was a frustrating few days to the Hinterlands, and Salshira was only grateful that she’d ridden horses before and understood them well enough not to be afraid.

The others didn’t fare any better than her. The horses were all farm animals or retired war mounts and they weren’t meant for this, so all of them protested. Salshira could only grumble to herself that she’d be grateful when they arrived at the Crossroads at last, and more grateful still whenever they managed to convince Dennett to join them with his well-bred and cared for mounts.

Their group of four didn’t travel alone, which sort of surprised Salshira even though it shouldn’t have. They rode with a small company of Inquisition soldiers who would maintain camp for them and remain at camp until called to another once they were in the Hinterlands, a personal escort, more or less. They’d care for the horses once the real fun began, and make sure that the small group would have a safe place to sleep every night.

The tents slept two, and Salshira was sharing with Cassandra. It was a rather uncomfortable arrangement for them, given how strained their relationship had started, but both of them tried to make it work.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Salshira said on their first night once Cassandra’s awkward movements and half glances became unbearable. “For how we met. You’re a woman of action and you acted under extreme stress in the way you thought would protect the most people. I can’t fault you for that.” She was surprised that it was even the truth, but there it was.

Cassandra sighed and stopped fidgeting with her armor long enough properly look at Salshira. “But I blame myself. My tutors always told me I was rash, too quick to act, and they were right. You would think that my Seeker training would have taught me patience, but it did not,” she sighed, scowling. “I believed what I thought I saw, the only explanation that was before me. I thought the truth was right in front of my eyes, and I would have condemned an innocent woman for it. But the truth was not what I thought it would be, and I should have looked harder for an answer.”

“Nothing can be accomplished by beating yourself up about it,” Salshira tried, and Cassandra gave her a tiny smile.

“You are right, of course,” she admitted. “Thank you.”

Cassandra laid down to sleep and started snoring quickly, but Salshira remained awake. Her dreams were a plague and didn’t know how to fix them, so she avoided sleep as much as she could. Every time she did fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, she was tormented by those sickening places that weren’t quite right and shadows that called her an intruder, a liar, a murderer and accused her of stealing someone else’s life. They called her worthless, told her she would fail, and taunted her until her own screams woke her up as she tried to drown them out.

“Sleep is for the weak anyway,” she muttered under her breath as she sat by the fire and picked over a hare left from dinner, barely more than bones but still a little meat left. Mostly she just wanted something to do with her hands.

When the night watchman returned from her rounds Salshira was forced to retreat to her tent to avoid questions, and she passed most of the night scowling at the list Leliana had given her, snagged from Cassandra’s things, trying to force the runes on the page to yield their secrets to her unsuccessfully.

 

* * *

The Crossroads was a mess, but it was not under immediate attack when they arrived. That made sense to Salshira, who figured that most of the fighting would be kept away from any place that had forces that might step in. But the people who peered out of boarded windows were too thin, too afraid, and the bodies awaiting cremation were uncovered because there were no blankets to spare. The infirmary spilled out into the village’s main square and there weren’t enough cots to go around, or enough healers, and each of them looked harried and exhausted.

A whispered word to their escort had the extra lyrium they were carrying distributed to the tired healers, and many of them nearly wept for it as Salshira looked among the sick and injured and tried to find Mother Giselle. She saw Solas, out of the corner of her eye, join the healers at their craft, and she left him to it. Cassandra disappeared toward where the soldiers lingered, and she wasn’t sure where Varric went except that he didn’t stay with the injured.

When Salshira found at last a woman fitting both the description Leliana had given her and what she remembered from the game, the woman was, in fact, convincing an injured soldier to receive healing from a mage who clearly didn’t have time for this shit and was glancing toward his other patients as though he’d rather let the soldier make his own decisions and die mad. But Mother Giselle convinced the man to allow himself to be healed, so the healer went to work.

“Mother Giselle?” Salshira called as the woman in the very ugly red and white robe began to move away. She turned and smiled slightly before she approached.

“You must be the one they call the Herald of Andraste,” she greeted, and Salshira had to work not to let her discomfort show.

“I’m Salshira,” she said, trying not to let it sound like a correction.

Mother Giselle tilted her head curiously. “Is there some reason you can’t be both?” Salshira just smiled.

“You asked to meet?” she prompted, and the Mother got down to it with her offer of rallying her sisters and joining the Inquisition. Salshira still thought it was annoying that the woman couldn’t come to them, had insisted on Salshira traveling for her, but whatever. Once that was done she wandered the town, spoke to the people, figured out what they had and what they needed. Dennett was recommended to her by an Inquisition soldier, and she got to meet Scout Harding for the first time as the cheerful dwarf returned from another attempt to locate the main camps of the two warring factions. She collected her side quests, so to speak, but rather than locate supplies from the mages she requisitioned them from her people. Rather than running about slaughtering rams she decided to try her hand at hunting once she could no longer take the stench of death and fear in the village.

Being away from it all was a relief, being alone even more so. She wandered, bow at the ready, for a while before stumbling along an animal path. She didn’t have the training of a hunter to know what the prints belonged to, but she had the instinct and she followed the trail until she came upon a ram that grazed just off the trail. Crouched low, she nocked an arrow and carefully moved into a position that felt right, where the ram wasn’t likely to spot her. Bow drawn, arrow released on a breath, and the ram went down with a small thud, dead instantly. She frowned at it, confused by own feelings. It was the first thing she’d killed that hadn’t been a demon intent on killing her or a spider that had gotten into her bedroom, and she thought it was very strange that it didn’t really bother her. But she’d always considered herself very practical, and the death of the ram meant fewer people in the village going to bed with hunger pains, so that meant it was okay. Maybe she wouldn’t react that way once she had to kill a person for the first time, but it seemed that she was pretty okay with hunting.

It was difficult to drag it back, but eventually she managed a fireman’s carry that kept the blood off her and wasn’t too bad. She plopped the carcass before the great fire pits where huge pots and piles of wood waited for supper, and those working them cried out in delight that she’d managed to find anything nearby. They expressed surprise that she hadn’t removed the intestines before carrying it back to lighten the load but she just shrugged, glad when they said they’d make waterskins from what organs they couldn’t eat.

Solas watched her from where he still tended the wounded, and they made eye contact briefly before he returned to his task. Disturbed by the calculation she’d seen in his face, she returned to the forest to attempt to hunt again, but had to return with two rabbits and a small pheasant that were received with joy despite being lean. After that she sat a little away from the people as she tended to her weapons, but she remained where she could be seen. People seemed, obnoxiously, like they stood a little straighter when they knew she was near. It was good that they had hope, but it was a lot of weight on her shoulders.

After her weapons were cleaned and maintained, Salshira got bored and uncomfortable quickly. After a short internal debate she went to one of the healers.

“How can I help?” she asked. “I can wash and bandage wounds. Change bedding. I’m no healer, but give me something to do. Please.”

At first they tried to turn her away, to say that the Herald of Andraste shouldn’t trouble herself over these matters. Eventually, she got frustrated enough to locate Solas. He glanced up in surprise as she approached, his hands still working on a bandage.

“The healers keep turning me away, but I can’t sit still,” she told him. “Will you let me help?”

His gaze was steady on her face, and she wondered what he was seeing. “Of course,” he said at last. “Will you hold this man up by his shoulders while I bandage his chest?”

They worked together after that, Solas focusing on magic while Salshira handled the more mundane parts of it. It helped to keep her busy, but after a while it began to take its toll on her emotions. She’d never done anything like this, had only ever bandaged a few scrapes and cuts and burns, usually on herself. She’d never seen wounds like this, that stank of blood and infection. Belly wounds smelled the worst, and over it all was a pervasive scent of pain and death. She kept working despite it all.

A young woman went into a seizure while Salshira and Solas were tending to her neighbor, and Salshira was with her at once. She shoved the blanket between the woman’s teeth so she wouldn’t bite her tongue, and threw her body over her to hold her down, trying to figure out how else she could help. She was so focused on her task that she didn’t realize that Solas was still in the middle of healing a deep gash on another soldier’s leg when the woman calmed. She sat back with a deep sigh and looked for Solas, only to find him behind her with their other patient, gazing at her with his brows raised. She shrugged and made sure the woman was comfortable before helping him finish up with the man.

Neither of them stopped until Varric called them to dinner. Salshira glanced up in surprise at how low the sun had gotten while they worked. She hadn’t noticed that torches had been lit in the absence of natural light, and she swayed as she got to her feet. Solas steadied her as they went to wash their hands, watching her carefully.

“You are very dedicated,” he observed as he scrubbed away the blood into a bowl. She shrugged, rubbing her face on her shoulder as she scrubbed.

“Mostly I think I’m good at following directions,” she told him. “You give good instructions.” She’d gotten a good look at his own dedication as they worked. It was hard to believe he still thought of them all as not quite real, not quite alive, when he spent hours healing wounded soldiers without rest. Hands cleaned, she drank half a canteen of water all at once, then passed it to him to finish off, watching as he drank as fast as she had and gasped just as hard when he was done.

“No, it is more than that,” he said, watching her once more. “You think of others before yourself and you seem to know instinctively what they need. Like that woman who had a seizure, or the dying man you held.” Her lips thinned at the reminder. There’d been nothing they could do, his wounds too severe and too far gone for treatment, but he’d been awake and he was frightened. She’d cradled his head and stroked his dirty hair and whispered to him that he wasn’t alone. He’d died with a smile on his lips because she reminded him of his husband. “You do not shy away from a messy task, either.”

She looked away from him and murmured, “It’s no more than you did.” She missed the way his eyes narrowed just slightly as he considered her.

They joined the others at the fires on the other side of the square, where many benches waited for those who wouldn’t retreat to their own homes to eat. It seemed that most of the village remained with them, mingling with the Inquisition and gazing at her with wide eyes, as though awed by her presence. She ate with her own three companions, but their conversation was fuzzy and far away, going in one ear and out the other. She ate her stew but she didn’t taste it, and her eyes felt so heavy she thought they might simply fall off.

When her bowl was empty it was gently extracted from her hands, and she looked up to find Cassandra gazing at her worriedly. “You need some rest, Salshira,” she was informed. “A cabin was prepared for you. There.” The cabin in question was pointed out, and Salshira nodded wordlessly. Sleep would be impossible to avoid when she was this exhausted, as distasteful as that was. Maybe the weight of her fatigue would be enough to drive away the spirits for a while, she consoled herself, but she had no real hope of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned how much I love playing with the Fade? Probably, but I'll say it again. I love playing with the Fade!


	7. Chapter 7

“Salshira,” Wisdom mused as though tasting the name on her tongue once Solas had finished describing the one people were calling the Herald of Andraste. A glimmer in the spirit’s eye appeared that said she knew more than she shared. “What do you think of her, then?”

Solas cocked his head at his old friend. “I have told you what I know,” he reminded her, but she only gave a light laugh, hands smoothing down her dress as the laughter caused a breeze.

“Yes, you have stated the facts as you know them, but you have offered no opinion,” she told him. “I want to know what _you_ think of her, not what other people say.”

He paused, considering. He hadn’t bothered to give her much thought before, though they’d been traveling in close proximity for a week and had worked side by side for the better part of half a day. “She is… odd,” he began. “She watches and listens with such intensity yet rarely offers her thoughts. Only when the words seem pulled from her does she speak, and even then she never talks of herself, only of others or the situation at hand. She seems so tired, but there is a determination in her, as though she feels that she cannot slow down until she has done everything she can find to do. There was no need for her to help the wounded today, yet even after several healers turned away her help she persisted. And she was very good at it, surprisingly so.”

“Perhaps there is more to her than meets the eye,” Wisdom suggested. “As you’ve said, no one really knows much about her. Faded Vallaslin, but she’s said she’s not Dalish. Eloquent, but she rarely speaks. She offers you no hints of what happens in her head, does she?”

Solas frowned in annoyance at the spirit’s question. “None,” he admitted. “I cannot read her, but the way she looks at me sometimes… It is as though she can see right through me, as though she knows all of my secrets, as impossible as it sounds.”

Wisdom chuckled again, long hair lifting in the wind. “Impossible? I thought you knew better than to use that word by now, ma fallon,” she admonished, but he only gave her a look. “Perhaps she does know more than she shares,” Wisdom continued when he made it clear he would not dignify her observation with a comment, “but it may not be what you expect.”

“At this point I have no idea what to expect of her,” he admitted, allowing his frustration to bleed into his face and voice. “How can I steer her in the direction she must go if I cannot predict her at all, if I know nothing about her?”

“You’ve provided the solution to your own problem,” Wisdom told him, leaning her chin on her hand as she smiled at him. He gazed at her curiously, wondering about this mood. Whenever Wisdom seemed to terribly pleased, it usually ended in much frustration for him, but he always found himself in a better situation. He braced himself for something unpleasant as she continued, “You must get to know her.” He frowned and opened his mouth to question her, but she shoved at his consciousness. “No time like the present.” her voice followed him as he tumbled end over end through the Fade, all but launched from the grassy meadow filled with books and wisps, and the way she sounded like she was repressing laughter made him very, very nervous.

He sighed as he managed to get his bearings and find his feet, so to speak. He wasn’t quite sure where he was or what he was meant to do, but he picked a direction and began to wander. After a short while he sensed a disturbance nearby, a large group of malicious spirits crowded around something that he couldn’t quite determine the nature of. Suspecting that this was what Wisdom had sent him to see, he headed for it.

Demons parted before him, those that knew better than to get in his way pulling their brethren with them until he was able to find the center of the disturbance. He froze in shock at what he saw, drawing a sharp breath.

Salshira sat on the ground, which shook and trembled and refused to choose a shape as it shifted between dirt and then gravel and then grass and then some strange sort of flat black rock that wasn’t obsidian or basalt. It shifted every few seconds to something new, preventing him from seeing any of it properly. And Salshira herself even flickered, her form changing between the Elvhen woman he recognized and a much larger but similarly shaped woman so quickly it was as though he were blinking as fast as he could and trying to process what he saw between the flashes of darkness. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands over her ears as though trying to block something out, and she rocked herself as she sobbed. He had never seen her in such a state, had never thought to when she always seemed so reserved and controlled, and it threw him.

She looked up just then as though sensing his presence, and the way her face shifted forms so quickly began to make him feel sick. Vallaslin flickered, too, and he focused on the bright green color of her eyes, one of the few things that stayed the same, so that the nausea might fade. She met his gaze desperately and a sob was torn from her chest.

“Help me,” she pleaded in a broken voice, and he wondered if she knew that she was asleep.

Jolted from his shock, he flexed his power just enough to send the demons scurrying for cover, to end their influence on her. He watched as she relaxed somewhat, but her flickering form didn’t steady. He scowled as he approached her, reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to figure out the problem, but the moment he made contact with her the flickering stopped and he found himself gazing down at Salshira as he knew her. She looked up at him, just watching for a moment, before she unwound herself and stood.

“Thank you,” she breathed, wobbling on her feet.

“It is no trouble,” he told her, still analyzing her as though the answer to what was happening might simply write itself in the air. “Are you alright?”

Her gaze flickered away and her lips pressed together, not like she was refusing to answer but rather as though she were ashamed, and that made even less sense.

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it twice before managing to say, “Ever since the Conclave, they don’t leave me alone.” She made a vague gesture around him and he could only assume she meant the demons that had fled. “I knew I couldn’t just not sleep forever, but… I guess I hoped they’d get bored or something.”

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Solas asked, picking up on the only clue to what was happening with her that she gave him. Her chin tucked even further downward and he thought he saw a hint of color appear on her cheeks. She was pale, thinner, and the circles under her eyes had become dark and heavy bags. He knew this to be a reflection of her emotional state projected onto her form by the Fade, but he couldn’t shake the thought that she looked half dead. He wondered again, this time with concern, what was going on with her.

She hesitated to answer, but eventually she shook her head. “Whenever the exhaustion won, I’d always wake up from the nightmares pretty fast anyway, so I figured why bother? It hurt a little less to just not sleep at all.” She wrapped her arms around herself defensively, still refusing to meet his gaze again.

He gazed at her in silence for a moment, trying to unravel the puzzle she represented. “Do you know where you are?” he asked after a while. She nodded easily.

“The Fade,” she answered, sounding rather unconcerned by it. A closer look revealed that she gripped herself a little tighter for having said it.

“Are you a Dreamer?” he asked her, though that seemed unlikely. If she had experience she should have been able to repel the demons on her own rather than suffer their influence for so long.

She shook her head and whispered, “No, I’m not. But it’s pretty hard to mistake what I see for the real world.” She made a face at herself, as though she disliked what she said.

“You said this has been happening since the Conclave?” he prodded, a bit frustrated by the way she refused to offer any more information than the answers to his direct questions.

“Yeah,” she replied, and fell silent, chewing on her lower lip. He sighed and gave up trying to get her to talk about herself in any meaningful way.

“You could have come to me,” he told her gently, meaning it. “You know that I am a Dreamer. You could have asked my help in dealing with this matter. We have a long journey ahead of us and you will need your rest.”

Her eyes met his at last and seemed to pierce right through him even more than usual. She examined him as though she could peel back his layers with her eyes until she could offer critique on the very core of him that he kept so carefully hidden. “I didn’t think to ask,” she murmured at last, releasing him from her spell by glancing away again.

He sighed, suspecting that she hadn’t thought he would help her. He offered a hand to her, watching the way she tensed as she eyed it, as though she suspected he might try to hurt her. He didn’t take offense; she was clearly still shaken by the torment of the demons. “If you will allow it, I’ll show you how to defend yourself in the future,” he offered, giving her a gentle smile to encourage her. Her eyes moved from his hand to his face and again he felt as though she flayed him alive to see what he hid from her, but she placed her hand in his after only a brief hesitation.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and the warmth of her hand jolted in his chest. He could all but hear Wisdom cackling in the air around him as he warped the Fade to bring her somewhere safer to show her what she would need.

 

* * *

 

When Salshira woke at last, her bones ached and her nose was running from the cold. She’d fallen into bed the night before without properly banking her fire and it had long since gone out, letting the cold seep into her cabin. But for the first time since waking up in Haven she’d slept properly so she almost didn’t mind as she stretched some soreness from her muscles and began to attempt to rub warmth back into her body.

She glanced at the shuttered window but all she could tell was that it was daylight out. Solas had left her in the Fade once he was confident that she would be alright, and she’d been both grateful and regretful when he was gone. He made her a bit uneasy by his very nature as her favorite character made flesh, and she knew she needed to keep her distance, but she found herself enjoying his company a little more than she should. He always looked at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle, and she was very much afraid that someday he’d solve it and figure her out. That was the last thing she needed.

The cold was stubborn, and her bones still ached, and her fingers were so cold that they couldn’t even rub heat into each other. Frowning as she considered her night, she blew absently on her fingers, then yelped as the heat suddenly burned. Her yelp became a scream as she looked at her hands and found them actually _on fire._ Like actual flames licking at the fingers of her right hand.

“What the _fuck!_ ” she shrieked, shaking her hand as though that would put the flames out. It barely even made them waver and she began to panic, but when she clenched her hand into a fist and put the other over it as though she might be able to smother the flames, it actually worked. She spent a few seconds just breathing deeply and trying to avoid a full-scale panic attack, then threw herself out of bed to get dressed. “Not good, not good,” she chanted as she hopped around trying to get her pants off. “Magic, really? As if I don’t have enough problems! But no, here’s another one thrown on to the pile! Because why the fuck not, apparently!” She growled at herself as she tied her cloak in place, forgoing her armor and leaving her weapons behind for the time being as she threw open the door and immediately shaded her eyes with a grimace of pain.

Once she could finally see, she squinted suspiciously at the sun. She was pretty sure it was solidly in the western half of the sky, meaning that she’d slept for more than half the day. Her stomach growled at that moment, reinforcing her suspicion, and she made a face at herself. It figured, really, that she’d waste so much time sleeping. What she couldn’t figure out, though, was why Cassandra had just left her alone rather than waking her at dawn as she usually did.

No time, or maybe no brain power, to wonder about it any longer, Salshira headed into the village. The cabin she’d been given was, annoyingly, situated at the top of a step in the rockside that the Crossroads was nestled against, meaning that she was elevated above the town. It was irritating, but it had given her a good enough view of the place to spot Solas wandering among the cots of wounded soldiers as he had the day before.

He gave her a smile when he spotted her approaching, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Do you have a minute?” she asked. “I need to talk to you.” Curiosity overtook his expression and he finished what he was doing, then followed her to a secluded spot behind an empty building.

“Feeling better after some rest?” he asked her pleasantly.

She made a face at the sun, which she was now very sure was in the west. “I think I had a bit too much,” she admitted, chagrined, but he only smiled.

“I explained to Cassandra that you were not well and needed to rest,” he told her, and she started in surprise, wide eyes fixing on his face. “I didn’t see a need to give her any details, and it was enough that she agreed. I suspect she has been concerned for your health for some time.

She kept staring at him until she realized that the silence had gone on longer than was socially appropriate. “Thank you,” she managed at last, then shook herself and tried to get her shit together. “And thank you for the help last night. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” He raised a brow and clasped his hands behind his back, looking oddly at the ready. In the current context, it really did look like he was a soldier awaiting a command and she couldn’t help but think again, as she had before when writing about his character, that his posture had been learned from a military discipline. But it wasn’t the time for that, and she shook away the thought. “I, uh, set my hand on fire by blowing on it,” she blurted, realizing it was too blunt and probably didn’t make sense but not quite able to say it properly.

His gaze flicked to her hands, dangling by her sides under the shadow of her cloak, but he didn’t seem to find his answer. “Please explain,” he requested, and she could have sworn he sounded ever so slightly irritated but it might have just been her general anxiety about being an irritant.

“Um, I’m really very sure it was magic,” she said, fidgeting with the edge of her cloak and shifting her weight to one foot and then the other. “But the problem is that I’ve never had magic before so I have no idea how to use it. Honestly, I’m lucky I managed not to burn down the cabin.”

He scowled and captured her hand between both of his. He closed his eyes, still frowning, and seemed to focus deeply while she waited and tried not to fidget anymore. At last he dropped her hand and said, “I had not sensed it before because it is entirely untamed, but you do seem to possess a rather deep well of mana to draw from, and a strong connection to the Fade. It is extraordinary.” He regarded her curiously and she watched thoughts pass behind his eyes in silence. “I had not expected such things to result from the mark on your hand,” he murmured after a while. “But it has actually caused magical ability to manifest where none previously existed? It must have a very strong connection to the Fade. Perhaps you even exist in a state of flux between the waking world and the Fade at all times, allowing you to tap into a magic you were not born with.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. She had her own theories, but she couldn’t share them because some of them involved the concept of body-snatching and all of them would reveal more than she was willing to say, so she stayed silent. “I’m afraid that I might hurt someone,” she told him. “I can’t control it, and that’s dangerous. Does your offer of help extend to this, as well?”

He straightened again, at the ready. “Of course. You need training, and fast. Indeed, we should begin at once,” he told her, and gestured for her to precede him.

 

* * *

 

A quick word to let someone know where they would be and Salshira found herself a safe distance from the village, alone with Solas, about to learn how to do magic. Which was probably the weirdest sentence she had thus far had the displeasure to think.

They sat facing each other, legs crossed for comfort, and that sense of dissociation was washing over Salshira again. She felt disconnected from her body, as though she was floating just to the left of it and witnessing what happened to her in the third person, despite feeling the crunch of the leaves that had been protected from the snow by the great oak they sat beneath and the moisture that soaked through the blanket they sat on to send a chill into her ass. She could smell the earth and the rotting leaves and the green things that waited for the thaws to burst forth, and she could feel the cold breeze and hear the way it rustled the branches above her, but somehow it all still felt like it was happening to someone else and she was merely an observer.

“The key to magic is discipline,” Solas began, jolting her back to the present. “You must master your own mind and your impulses. Though you may move your body in specific ways to cast certain spells, ultimately those motions serve only as a way to focus your mind and thus direct the magic where you want it to go without allowing it to run wild. Letting your magic do as it wishes is the surest way to cause harm to yourself or others.” She nodded to show him that she understood. “Meditation is an excellent way to learn to focus your mind. Do you know what it is?”

Salshira nodded easily and said, “I used to meditate every day to relax, but I’ve fallen out of the habit recently. I’m sure you can figure out why.” He gave her a small, sad smile.

“That’s good, you have a solid foundation of focus on which to build,” he said, then held a hand out between them. Slowly, very slowly, a blue light with silver sparks began to emanate from his palm. Her eyes widened when she realized that she recognized the hue and the way it flashed red for just a moment as it built. That color had haunted many daydreams once upon a time, when the reality she was living was merely fiction, seen in the ending DLC as a show of power in the eyes that now watched his own hand.

“I want you to resume your meditation habit,” he continued, and she was grateful that her brief distraction had gone unnoticed, “and once you feel that you are in a sufficiently relaxed and focused state I would like you to focus inward. Find the place your mana dwells within you and learn its shape, its size. Familiarize yourself with it until you can ask it to manifest. This is raw power, so you must be careful to use only a little, just enough to see it like this.” He closed his palm and the light vanished, that flash of red at the end exactly like she remembered. “Remember that your power is a part of you just as much as your arms are, and just as you have trained your arms to draw a bow or comb your hair or lift food to your mouth, you may train your magic to learn various tasks. You don’t need to be afraid of it.” She nodded again. She understood the concept well enough, though she was a little iffy on the execution. Seeing her hand on fire had been pretty damn startling, after all.

He guided her meditation, his soothing voice talking her through the steps to take to find her power, to learn what it looked like, and to manifest it in her hand. It took quite a while and many false starts as her concentration was broken by little things, her lack of practice keeping up with the habit showing, but he was nothing but patient. He soothed her when she grew frustrated with herself, reminded her that she was doing well to already be familiar enough with meditation to attempt it. As the sun was beginning to set and the brilliant colors of twilight started to fade, her right palm began to glow. It was the green of summer grass and maple leaves, and little veins of copper twined through it like the branches of trees. Awed, Salshira gazed transfixed at the physical manifestation of a power that she’d never expected to exist.

After a while, Solas reached out and gently closed her hand, breaking her concentration enough that the light guttered out. When she looked at him, he was smiling. “That’s very good,” he said. “You learn quickly, and your focus is excellent. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself when you do not manage a thing right away.” She pressed her lips together in chagrin and shrugged slightly, altogether too aware of the fact that he had not released her hand. “We will practice together daily, if you will allow me to continue to teach you.” She nodded easily, eagerly. The Inquisition didn’t have other mages yet, and she didn’t expect any besides maybe Vivienne until they reached Redcliffe, so it wasn’t like she had options to begin with. But she found herself enjoying the idea of spending time with Solas like this, listening to his voice and learning about magic.

The moment she realized that she wanted this in part as an excuse to spend time with him, she snatched her hand away and gazed at her lap as she hugged herself. _Fuck, fuck, I really can’t be doing this. But what options do I have? It’s this or set my bedding on fire. I’ll hold out until Dorian or Vivienne join up, then switch tutors. I just can’t be spending this much time with him!_

She managed to summon a smile for her teacher. “I haven’t eaten today,” she told him as her stomach growled loudly. He returned her smile and stood, then helped her up. They gathered their blanket and returned to town to find something to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha, Wisdom ships it!


	8. Chapter 8

“Master Dennet’s farm is northwest of here,” Corporal Vale informed them the next morning. “Follow the west road and the pay attention to the road signs, they’ll take you where you need to go.”

Much later, Salshira scowled at an unintelligible road sign and muttered in a high-pitched, mocking tone, “They’ll take you where you need to go,” while sneering at what she assumed was reality.

“Is something wrong?” Cassandra asked when Salshira neglected to pick a direction and continue their course.

She threw her hands in the air, forced to admit what she’d been trying to keep to herself until she’d had time to fix it. “I can’t read, so I can’t follow road signs,” she growled. “Someone tell me which one says ‘To The Goddamn Horse Farm’ and we’ll go that way.” She carefully didn’t look at any of them during the ensuing silence.

It felt like a year before anyone spoke, but at last Varric piped up. “Go right,” he told her softly, and she stomped in that direction without looking at any of them. She rather wished they could have brought their horses, but it had been decided that it was too dangerous and they couldn’t risk the animals where the mage-Templar fighting was worst, not when they had so few resources. So that meant that she couldn’t gallop on ahead of the others and hope that the wind in her ears and the sound of her horse’s breathing would drown out the really, truly irrational shame she felt so strongly.

_ It’s not like being untutored is that uncommon. Structured school systems don’t exist except for the very wealthy, which I clearly am not, _ she reminded herself. But she carried the shame from the world she was born in instead of the one she was living in, and it was rooted deep. Being illiterate there would have been all but impossible in a powerful country.

After a while, the anger that reflexively masked her shame faded and she just felt tired. She allowed her steps to slow to keep time with the others and listened to them chat, catching pieces of game banter that she’d always enjoyed. When Varric attempted to play I Spy with Cassandra she had to hold her hand over her mouth to keep herself from falling over laughing, and the effort brought tears to her eyes.

She caught Solas’s gaze as she was wiping them, still smiling but no longer in danger of getting stabbed for laughing at the Seeker. She was surprised by the gentle smile he wore as he watched her, and the fact that he didn’t look away when she caught him watching her. Her heart did a little flip at that almost tender look and it was her who looked away, trying to tell her heart where to shove a cactus and unsurprised by how useless that sentiment was. She spent the rest of the trip wondering if her heart had an anus separate from her body and if a cactus would fit there because it was better than seeing that look seared on the backs of her eyelids every time she blinked.

They didn’t run into more than two warring bands in the valley that, in game, was mostly on fire. And it really didn’t surprise her in the least that the small groups of ragged people were far more interested in fighting each other than even a small group of well-armed people. They took a couple of pot shots and then ran off when warning shots were fired.

Salshira stopped dead as they were about to pass a ruined tower at the edge of the valley as something on the edge of her hearing began to sing. Varric nearly ran into her from behind, but she ignored his apologies as she strained to listen.

“What is it?” he asked her, hands fidgeting with his crossbow.

“Do you hear it?” she asked softly as she cocked her head. A slow step toward the ruin and she was pretty sure that was the origin. A few more steps and out of the corner of her eye she saw Solas straighten his shoulders.

“Yes,” he told her. “The singing. Red lyrium.”

“Ah, shit,” Varric muttered as Salshira stopped again to look at her companions.

“Can we do anything about it?” she asked, but Cassandra shook her head.

She pulled out her map, lips pressed into a thin line. “All we can do is mark it down so our soldiers and scouts will know,” she said. “Later, when we have better resources, we can send people get rid of it.”

Salshira’s lips twisted, but she wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t quite as simple as smashing it with a shield. That had always felt too easy to her in game, and far too dangerous given the lore. She sighed and moved on, ignoring the way it made her gut clench. What if refugees found it by accident? But there was nothing to be done.

The broken bridge landmark was right where it should have been, which seemed like more of a surprise than the fact that it existed. Parts of it still smoldered slightly and it had clearly been broken quite recently. They waded through the shallow river instead of risking that the broken boards wouldn’t hold their weight, and those who wore shoes groaned about it while Solas said nothing and Salshira merely smirked.

The farm itself was a lot bigger and more intricate than the game depicted, and there were a lot more people. They passed numerous fenced fields where beautiful horses grazed, watched over by attentive shaggy dogs and a few humans. There were some elves scattered around, too, and they were the ones who invariably watched the strangers passing by them on the road, while many of the humans remained focused on their tasks and didn’t seem to notice them. No challenge was offered, but everyone was tense.

Someone must have run ahead to warn Master Dennet that they were coming, because he was waiting in the middle of the road with a few others at the edge of a cluster of buildings, sword in hand. An older man, his face showed the signs of hard living with deep wrinkles and bushy white eyebrows and only the scarcest trace of hair on his teak scalp. His eyes were warm brown with deep crinkles around the edges, and his face seemed made for smiles.

“Stop right there, stranger,” he called out, and Salshira stopped at once, watching him warily. “State your business.”

She took half a step forward and called to him, “I am Salshira, here to represent the Inquisition. We want to talk to you about your beautiful horses and see if there’s anything we can do to help your people stay safe.”

Swords were sheathed and Cassandra released a sigh of relief at her back. “Ah. Come on, then, Inquisition. We’ll have a cup of tea and chat. Mind that your weapons stay where they belong, though.” Dennet gestured for them to follow him up to the biggest house at the top of a small hill. An older woman was tending a vegetable garden beside it, but when she saw them she stood and wiped her hands off. A kiss was shared between her and the horsemaster as she slipped into the house ahead of them, then Dennet held the door for his guests.

It wasn’t such a simple matter to secure the horses. Not just a quick jaunt to take care of some wolves and build some watchtowers, of course. Dennet made them some tea and Salshira allowed Cassandra to take point on negotiations, only speaking up when Cass began to flounder or grow frustrated. They promised the watchtowers in strategic spots, which were marked on the map the Seeker kept with her, and Salshira promised the rifts on his lands would be closed while they were there. When he understood that she was the one who would close them, he suddenly got a whole lot more awkward, babbling apologies for not somehow recognizing her, for the state of the room, for the quality of the tea. They had to waste a few minutes reminding him that she was just a person, and she liked the tea just fine, but negotiations were a little easier after that.

A sum of money was agreed to, which would be paid in installments, and Salshira had no idea how much it really was. She suspected from Cassandra’s tells that it was considerably less than she’d feared, so that was probably a good thing. And then it was agreed, to be put in writing later. Some coin, closed rifts, and manned watchtowers were the agreed price for a steady supply of horses to the Inquisition, which would be guarded on the road by Inquisition soldiers to keep them safe. Four of his best horses were offered to them upon the closing of the three rifts that had been found on his land, and then it was done. A bottle of good whiskey was brought out to celebrate, but Salshira participated only in the initial toast. She’d never really been a whiskey fan, anyway, but she’d always been a lightweight, and she knew the dangers of getting drunk when she had this many secrets to guard.

She couldn’t help but notice that Solas didn’t drink any more than she did.

 

* * *

Lodgings were offered for the night, as it was quite late when the negotiations finished and even later by the time the bottle of whiskey was empty. There wasn’t room for privacy, but a cabin was offered to the four of them with plenty of bedding. Varric was snoring away quite soundly at once, and Cassandra wasn’t far behind, but Solas approached Salshira.

“You should practice your meditation before bed,” he said softly, and she nodded. Together, wrapped in cloaks, they found a fairly private spot not far from their cabin. He guided her in meditation for a while, got her to feel the flow of her magic in her body, to breathe with it and begin to tame it. When they were both feeling the exhaustion of a long day, they ended the short lesson.

Solas offered a hand to help her up from the cold ground, where she’d gotten rather stiff in the hips, and she could feel the warmth of him even through their gloves. She hesitated to release his hand, missing the warmth of touch too much to give it up quite that fast, and he didn’t rush her, but she let go and looked away after a moment. They started back, but their pace was slow, leisurely, and Solas walked with his hands clasped behind his back.

“You mentioned today,” he began, his voice soft and meant only for her, “that you never learned to read.” She cringed but nodded stiffly. “Would you be interested in learning?” he asked, and his gaze was gentle as she looked at him sharply.

“Are you offering to teach me?” she asked.

“Only if you would like me to,” he soothed, and she bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t spend more time around him, that it put her in very real danger of caring too much for him, and that he probably had some sort of motive beyond altruism for offering to spend even more time alone with her. But his smile was gentle and his eyes called to her, and she could still feel the phantom of his strong hand warm in her palm, and some reckless part of her that didn’t care for consequences wanted very much to be near him more.

“I’d hate to put you at even more of an imposition,” she said at last, looking away and telling her reckless side to shove it. “You’ve already been so generous to teach me magic, I couldn’t ask you for more.”

“You are not asking,” he reminded her gently. “You are being extremely careful to ask for nothing.” She couldn’t help a bit of a shocked look, but he merely smiled. “The inability to read is nothing to be ashamed of, Salshira. It is no fault of yours that you are untutored. I fear, however, that as the figurehead of the growing Inquisition there may come a time when that skill could be important.”

“I know,” she said slowly.  _ Am I really not asking for anything at all? Have I asked for anything, beyond the ability not to set my bed on fire while I’m in it? _ She couldn’t recall, and hadn’t noticed. “I… would be very grateful if you would teach me.” He nodded easily.

“Then we will add it to your lessons in magic,” he told her, and it was decided.

She stared at the ceiling as the other slept for quite some time before she managed to join them, wondering how she’d gotten so off course in her resolution not to spend time with Solas so quickly.

 

* * *

There weren’t three rifts on Dennet’s farm, they discovered. Those were merely the ones that his people had found and mentioned. And several of them weren’t technically on his land, per se, but they were close enough. Their group of four spent the entire day combing the land to find the rifts, and the others kept the demons busy while Salshira closed the rift itself, then they all destroyed the remaining demons together.

Each rift was harder than the last as the pain took its toll. It was the same every time, a pull, a call from the other side, and the agony of every spirit that had come into contact with the tear, the agony of the world itself as its skin was ripped open and then sewn shut. All of it etched itself into Salshira’s mind as each rift was closed until she lost count of how many they’d found, how many times she’d endured the closing. She was very sure that they wandered rather far from Dennet’s land by evening, but each time a rift was closed she felt the echo of another, and then another, and she chased each of them down.

Everyone was exhausted by the time the sun was nearing the horizon again, but Salshira was barely coherent at all. Her body felt numb, and she just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Though at first she’d talked with her companions to pass the time, now it was all she could do to keep moving. One last rift, she told herself each time she followed the echoes. One more and then she would rest.

The rift was by the road, for which she was grateful. Not the road they’d taken to get to the farm the previous day, but one that would lead them there. A barrier fell across her skin, a tingling sensation that had physical weight that she was growing accustomed to, and the others battled the demons as she got just close enough that the mark on her hand could reach the rift and began to close it.

She cried out as power arced between her hand and the rift, unable to hide the pain any longer. It got worse the more she did it, or perhaps it simply wore her out so much that her pain tolerance decreased. She wasn’t sure, but she was screaming silently as she took the pain from the Fade into herself and the rift sealed.

As soon as the connection was broken, she fell to her knees as though it had been all that was holding her up. She clutched her wrist, the mark spitting sparks that made her muscles twitch painfully, and she kept telling herself to stand up,  _ stand up and fight, _ but she couldn’t.

The others took care of the demons while she knelt in the cold dirt, snow melting beneath her knees, and tried to slow her breathing. Feet entered her view, Cassandra’s by the size and the boots.

“Are you alright, Salshira?” she asked, panting and out of breath. “Maybe we should rest.”

Bare toes that peeked out of linen wraps came into view on her other side, then a warm hand gently touched her shoulder. “You have been flagging for some time,” Solas observed softly. “Why did you not ask to rest before it got to this point?”

“Just wanted to be done,” she rasped, her voice hoarse and breathless. She barely sounded like herself at all, and barely had the presence of mind to recognize that fact. “It hurts so much, I just wanted to get it over with.”

“It hurts you to close them?” Solas asked, sounding surprised. She hesitated, having not really intended to share that little bit of information, then nodded. His hands closed over her marked one and his magic soothed the power there. She relaxed as the pain vanished and nearly crumpled all the way to the ground before Solas caught her. Her eyes were barely open as he pressed the cool glass rim of a phial to her lips and tipped the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed on instinct, but the potion barely had an effect. It tingled in her body and she briefly opened her eyes all the way before falling back into her half-unconscious state. She heard Solas sigh his concern as though from far away. “She needs more rest than we can afford to take here, Seeker,” he said. The next few exchanges passed right by Salshira without sticking in her mind, but then Solas’s voice was right at her ear as he told her, “Wrap your arm around my shoulder to steady yourself, and I will carry you.” 

She did as he asked on instinct even though part of her mind protested. “I’m too heavy,” she managed, her voice barely audible. A moment later she was lifted into his arms, one under her knees and the other behind her back, hand tucked under her arm for leverage.

“You are not,” he soothed. “Rest now, Salshira. I will make sure you are safe.”

It would have been easier, she realized later, if he’d put her in a fireman’s carry and slung her over his shoulder. She couldn’t possibly imagine that he was unaware of that, but he carried her bridal all the way back to the farm despite how exhausting it must have been for him. Perhaps he did it to preserve her dignity, since anyone who saw the Herald of Andraste slung over an apostate’s shoulder like a sack would probably think less of her, but she didn’t know for certain.

He laid her in the bed she’d slept in the night before and carefully removed her weapons, coat, and foot wraps. Then he laid her blankets over her and the world faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Salshira. She's been through so much this chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Salshira slept so deeply that she didn’t remember if she’d entered the Fade at all. When she woke, the first thing she was aware of was the pounding in her skull, like the morning after that one party in college she still couldn’t remember just before she’d dropped out. She gasped and pressed a hand to her forehead, compressing her face as though she could make her head implode so it wouldn’t explode.

_ “Fuck me,” _ she groaned, but the sound of her voice made the pain worse. She laid there in silence for a few minutes until she thought she might try opening her eyes, but as soon as her eyelids weren’t holding them in they attempted to explode, too. She pressed the heels of her palms into them and rubbed until she was seeing static, then tried again. This time she managed to squint around and actually see things, for which she was grateful.

If she remembered her directions correctly, she was pretty sure from the angle of the sunlight seeping through the shuttered windows that it was around midmorning, and she could only hope it was midmorning of the very next day instead of, say, the next week.  _ I’m so tired of losing time, _ she thought to herself as she attempted to sit up. It took three tries, each one renewing the agony in her head and making her aware of other pains in her body, but she managed it eventually.

She’d progressed to having her feet on the floor but was still working up the courage to stand when the door opened. She shielded her eyes until it closed again and blocked out the searing agony of sunlight once more, then squinted in that direction to find out who was there.

“Solas,” she croaked, her throat so dry she thought it might crack open and then she’d bleed out, choking.  _ Well, that’s a cheerful thought, thanks. _ Talking to her own thoughts was probably something crazy people did, but she probably fit that definition anyway.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and his voice was pitched low enough that it didn’t hurt too much. He handed her a waterskin as he asked, and she drained it before answering.

“Like death warmed up,” she gasped, handing the skin back. She scrubbed her face with her hands, grateful when the headache began to recede as the hydration hit her body. “I’ll be fine. Just needed some rest and water, I guess.”

Despite her assurances a warm, dry hand found her forehead and the oddly electric sensation of healing magic suffused her. She tried not to fidget too much, tried to let him do what he could to help, but the feeling was still so alien and oddly intimate and she didn’t like it. When he was done her headache was a shadow of pain and most of the aches in her body were soothed. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she whispered her thanks.

Solas sat on another cot close by and seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “You closed a dozen rifts yesterday,” he told her softly, and she took a moment to be relieved that it had only been a day. “It was a long day for us all, but you paid dearly for your determination. My magic was not enough to revive you and I was afraid for a while that you had quite literally worked yourself to death.”

She rubbed at her face some more, picking crust out of the corners of her eyes. “Okay, so now we know that a dozen is my daily limit,” she quipped, wondering if there was more water nearby.

Solas was silent for a few moments, then he said softly, “I think your limit should be rather lower than that, Salshira.”

She sighed in irritation. “Obviously,” she groaned. “I don’t really want to die, especially not this early. Lesson learned, too many rifts at once is bad for my health.”

There was silence again, and Salshira wondered if she’d sounded harsher than she’d meant to. She wasn’t upset, not really, just cranky from pain. But now that the words were said she wasn’t quite sure how to soften them. She sighed heavily and rubbed her face once more, this time tiredly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to yell at you,” she told him, biting the proverbial bullet.  _ Because bullets don’t exist here. _ “Pain makes me snippy, that’s all.”

“It’s quite understandable,” Solas soothed. “You had mentioned yesterday evening that closing rifts is painful. Would you tell me how?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, frowning as she tried to put it into words. “It’s… like staring into the eyes of the Fade itself, like it has a consciousness, almost. If I look at the rifts for too long, I can see right through them,  _ feel _ through them. They’re… wounds. Cuts in the fabric of reality, and they bleed. Cause pain. The Fade is  _ hurting. _ And the spirits hurt when they get too close. They panic and they don’t understand and it hurts so much to fall into this world that they’re corrupted. And to seal the rift, I have to  _ feel it. _ All of it. I have to feel the rift being torn wide open like a knife wound, and I have to feel the pain and panic of the wound, of the spirits that were unlucky enough to be too close, who came to see what it was only to be pulled through.” She tightened her arms around herself and looked at him desperately. “They didn’t want this. They don’t want to hurt us, but they’re confused and in pain and they don’t understand and they lash out because they don’t know what else to do and  _ I can’t help them. _ ” Her eyes were burning and Solas moved to sit beside her on her cot. He hesitated for a brief moment, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, too distressed to remember to keep her distance, and tried to pull herself together.

“The demons at the rifts are beyond hope,” he told her softly, consolingly, sharing her grief. “We help them by ending their misery because it is all that we can do. And by closing the rifts we save others from the same fate.”

“I see them all, Solas,” Salshira whispered, a hot tear sliding down her cheek. “I  _ know _ them. I can name them, tell you what they represented, what they loved. And out of every rift I’ve sealed so far, not a single spirit that got pulled through ever wanted to hurt anyone. Pride thinks itself above us and wants to preen, but it was too close when the rift formed. Desire sought pleasure, but not from mortals. It was looking for silk, or an approximation of it, and ventured too close. And sweet Curiosity just wanted to understand, but died confused. Why do I have to know them?”

Solas’s arms tightened around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her sobs. She hadn’t let herself feel any of this before, but he’d asked to understand and it all came pouring out. And she didn’t want to take comfort in his strong arms, in the way he smelled like herbs and woodsmoke and the sharp tang of magic, but he held her close and she clung to his shirt all the same.

She allowed herself only a few minutes to mourn, to feel sorry for herself, then she pushed him away. She wiped her face and couldn’t look at him, went hunting for her handkerchief so she wouldn’t have to see his face and what he thought of her now. After she blew her nose she took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her throat dry again.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Solas replied, and the oddly tight sound of his voice convinced her to look at him. Guilt was hidden from his eyes the moment their gazes met, but she saw the flash of it anyway. He couldn’t tuck away the mourning he felt on her behalf, however, and the fact that he didn’t pity her helped immensely.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him again, and this time she didn’t wait for him to call her bluff. She stood from the cot and stretched her arms to the ceiling, one shoulder and several vertebrae popping as she did. “Oh, I need a proper stretch,” she muttered as she reached for her bag and the change of clothes contained within.

Solas seemed inclined to linger, but she couldn’t look at him again and more or less ignored him until he figured out that she was going to change. “I’ll make sure there’s something for you to eat. Come to Dennet’s house when you’re ready,” he told her, then left when she nodded.

Clean clothes felt great, and she took a few minutes to stretch all her major muscle groups. It took a while because she was quite sore and because she was waiting for the signs of her tears to fade from her face, but after about half an hour she was ready to venture out of the cabin. Sunlight stabbed her eyes briefly, but she blinked a few times and the pain eased. She smiled to those she passed on her way up to the main house, trying to ignore the way they stared, but she didn’t see her companions yet.

She found them sitting with Dennet in the main room of his house, but the lively conversation ceased when they noticed her. Cassandra stood and frowned at her, looking her over intently, while Elena, Dennet’s wife, took a bowl to the pot that hung over the fire and filled it.

“Are you alright, Salshira?” Cassandra asked, and Salshira shrugged.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured them. “I just overdid it, that’s all. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Elena brought the bowl to her and gestured for her to sit. “I heated some of last night’s stew for you once we found out you were awake,” she said, tucking long gray hair behind an ear. “I figure you’ll be needing it, so eat up. There’s more, so don’t be shy.”

“You’ve more than fulfilled your end of the bargain, Herald,” Dennet added as she sat. Her lips thinned at the title but she was tired of fighting him on it. “The Seeker here sent a raven to your Inquisition this morning and she already got some of the soldiers nearby to start clearing land for the watchtowers. I’ve instructed my people to get the horses we agreed upon ready for travel.”

The stew was quite hot, and after burning herself once she convinced her empty and aching stomach to let it cool, stirring it constantly to help that process go faster and give herself something to do with her hands. “Will you come with them?” she asked. “There’s no finer hand to tend to the Inquisition’s mounts, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

He shifted in his seat, looking both pleased and uncomfortable. “Well, that’s true, but there’s also the farm here, and my family,” he grumbled, taking his wife’s hand.

“Surely you can trust someone else to handle the farm’s day-to-day, and communicate by raven to make sure things are going smoothly,” Salshira reasoned. “If your family wants to come with you, we’d be honored to have them.” She nodded her respect to Elena, who inclined her head.

Dennet looked at his wife, and they seemed to have a brief and silent conversation. “We’ll talk about it, and let you know,” he said at last.

“Of course,” Salshira said. “We’d never ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Cassandra insisted that they accept Dennet’s offer of rest for the day, despite Salshira’s protests. She ate two bowls of the stew and drank so much water that Elena sent a farm hand to the well, then accepted the fact that she was being treated as fragile for the day.

Solas sought her out while she was exercising. Trying to be nice to her sore muscles, she was doing some adapted yoga she’d favored back home, just flexibility and muscle control exercises for the moment.

“Your form is interesting,” he told her as she released a pose. She hadn’t heard him come up and managed to drop herself on her ass as she turned to look at him.

“Oh,” she managed as she stood again. “It’s sort of self-made, I guess.” She shrugged, then stretched one arm over her head, bending sideways and reaching as far to the side as she could, holding for a while before switching. “So, just wondering, but you didn’t tell anyone about my little meltdown this morning, did you?” she asked casually. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was the reason Cassandra wasn’t willing to continue on.

“I would never betray your trust in that manner, Salshira,” he told her, not like he was offended. “You allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability in my presence, and I would not do you the dishonor of sharing it with anyone without your consent.”

She straightened from her stretch and grimaced at herself. “Sorry… And thanks.”

He tilted his head and she noticed that his ears twitched just a little toward her.  _ Huh… Cool. _ “You apologize too often,” he observed, and she bit off the apology on her tongue.

“Yeah, need to work on that,” she said instead.

There was a moment of silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Then Solas moved nearer and asked, “Would you like me to show you a more efficient form? What you are practicing seems to be a derivation of an old Elvhen style of mastering one’s body and mind. I have studied it, and quite enjoy the practice, myself.”

_ Of course it’s Elvhen, why the fuck wouldn’t it be? _ she wanted to mutter, but she just barely prevented herself. “Yeah,” she said, before remembering her promise not to fall for him and therefore to spend as little time with him as possible.  _ Oh, fuck it, I’ve already collected a series of other activities to do together, what harm could one more possibly bring? _ Playing with fire seemed to be her new passtime, in more ways than one.

After Solas taught her some new styles of what he called  _ aju’elvyral’dun _ , which he had to train her to pronounce properly and translated as  _ the art of simplifying the body _ , they meditated together. He had her just focus on the flow of her mana and try to find the extent of it again, and told her that she’d likely be doing that for weeks until it was concrete in her mind. A safety precaution, he called it, to prevent her from over exerting herself.

“Is this because I closed too many rifts at once?” she asked, a smile tugging on her lips.

He returned her teasing expression with his own. “No, this is because an untrained mage may attempt to use her own life force to power spells once her mana runs out,” he told her. “That usually ends in death for the mage. And since you informed me this morning that dying is not on your agenda at present, I should think you might like to avoid that fate.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fair,” she conceded.

Once they finished meditating, there was still time before dinner, so she had her first reading lesson. Varric came to find them during this time, and she found him to be a much more helpful teacher in this than Solas was. As eloquent as Solas could be about magic and even about Elvhen yoga, Varric had a knack for the written word that Solas just couldn’t quite match.

Because she understood the basics of how language as a concept worked already due to the written language she was pretty damn proficient in - not that she could let them know that-  they had her scratching her letters in the dirt with a stick before the lesson ended, both stating that they were impressed by how fast she picked it up. She just had to shrug in response to their praise, both unwilling and unable to admit why it was easy for her. She just needed to memorize the alphabet and the way words were structured, and then she’d be good to go.

Salshira tumbled into bed immediately after dinner, unwilling to admit to the others that she was still exhausted from the previous day’s venture.

 

* * *

The rest of their time in the Hinterlands was a lot less dramatic. Salshira limited herself to three or four rifts per day to prevent the burnout she’d suffered before, and they all hoped that there were so many rifts only because of their proximity to the Breach. That seemed like a reasonable theory, so it was the one Salshira was going to stick to until proven wrong. She also liked the idea that it would get easier as they went, as they ventured further from their mountain range.

The outlier to the slow but steady pace of closing rifts and finding ways to help the people fleeing the violence happened when their little group managed to get caught in the middle of a sizeable scuffle between mages and Templars in the valley. All of a sudden, there were people on all sides of them and no one seemed to care that they weren’t part of the war as both sides took shots at them. In a panic, though the others drew their weapons calmly and went to work, Salshira drew her bow. She wasn’t able to make herself fire it at a person until a Templar with a very big sword got too close for comfort. She squeaked her fear, drew back her nocked arrow, and let her body take over. The arrow hit home in the gap in the man’s visor, and he crumpled at once.

No time to absorb what she’d just done, a call from Cassandra warned her of more danger. She spun, another arrow at the ready, and this time it was a mage who fell. It happened quickly, far more so than the game or even movies liked to suggest. In only a few minutes, the warring parties were either dead or retreating and their little group was left alone as blood seeped across the soil.

Looking at the carnage, seeing her arrows sticking out of bodies, smelling the stench of blood and urine and feces and sweat and fear, Salshira’s stomach knotted painfully. She sprinted for the nearest bush that wasn’t drenched in blood, making it just in time to have her breakfast come violently back up.

Hands pushed her hair back from her face, held her head to steady her as she heaved, drew her into a strong embrace when she was done and shaking. She half expected Solas, but it was Cassandra who held her instead.

“This was your first time killing, wasn’t it?” she asked softly. “It’s alright to be ill. It is a nasty thing that we must do, and you are right to be disgusted by it. Sometimes I wonder how the Maker could look favorably on me after all the lives I have taken, and I have always strived to kill only when I have no other choice. These mages and Templars gave us no other choice. They would have killed us if we hadn’t.”

“I know,” Salshira rasped, reaching for her waterskin. She swished some water around her mouth, then spat it out before drinking deep. “It doesn’t make it easier.”

“I know,” Cassandra said, hands running soothingly up and down Salshira’s back.

She allowed it for a few minutes, just until her shaking eased, then pulled away. “I want to get out of here,” she announced, and moved to do exactly that, trying not to look at the site of the carnage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, she's doing GREAT at not falling for Solas!
> 
> So the theme of this fic seems to be some super heavy shit broken up by Salshira's relentless sarcasm. I kind of feel like that's a Mood, but I also feel like saying that is like sucking my own dick. Make of that what you will.


	10. Chapter 10

They received a raven from Leliana at the Crossroads while they were there checking on the refugees. A number of them had already joined the Inquisition, telling Salshira that she and her soldiers were the first people to actually try to help them, and they wanted to pay her back, pay it forward. A few were quite blunt in saying that they were grateful for any steady work that promised them coin in their pockets and a hot meal. It didn’t really make her feel much better about the whole situation, especially since the Inquisition soldiers really didn’t feel like  _ her _ soldiers. They were Cassandra’s, Cullen’s, sometimes Leliana’s, but not hers. She couldn’t order these people around, especially since they all seemed to wait for her command whenever she passed near them, as though they’d be grateful for her direction. But she had no direction to give, was just trying to keep herself from falling apart after killing people for the first time.

The raven was a welcome distraction, though when the letter was brought to her she had to take it to Varric, mostly because he was the first one she found.

“Sarcasm!” he greeted, and she made a face.

“Keep working on the nickname, Varric,” she said wryly, and he chuckled.

“Yeah, not one of my best. I’ll find one, though!”

“I don’t doubt it. Here, this came for me. I can’t read more than a few words on it,” she told him, holding out the letter.

He took it from her and laid it out on the little table he was using, motioning for her to sit with him. “Okay, let’s work through it together,” he said, and helped her read it line by line. When they’d gotten all the way through it twice he rolled it up and stuck it in her pocket for her. “So Nightingale wants us to find a Warden around here somewhere,” he summarized. “You should try asking around while we’re here. I can’t imagine no one saw him pass through.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Salshira replied. “And thanks, Varric. For the lesson.”

“Any time,” he said, and went back to whatever he’d been doing when she interrupted him.

The first few people she asked about a Grey Warden in the area couldn’t help, but when she approached a man who was sitting against a broken stone wall taking his lunch she finally got a different answer.

“I’m told there might be a Grey Warden in the area,” she told him. “Do you know anything about him?”

“A Warden?” he echoed, gazing up at her. “Ah, you must be looking for Blackwall!” She smiled and sat beside him so he didn’t have to crane his neck.  _ Ah, yes, time to fill out the ranks of the Inquisition with more people lying about who they are. Such fun! _ “He protected us when the demons attacked.”

“When the Breach opened?” Salshira asked.

“‘The Breach?’ Is that what they’re calling it? All I know is that things got bad when it opened up,” he said, shrugging matter-of-factly. “The Warden helped stop the demons while we got away. Without him… We took what we could from the farms, then bandits came and stole all that. Made Blackwall mad as blazes, like it was the last straw or something. He conscripted the other farmers and headed after them, down that way.” He nodded down the west road. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“Thanks,” Salshira told him as she stood and dusted off her pants. She went to find Cassandra, who carried their map, and plotted herself a route to the lake where Blackwall always was in game that she kept in her head. Then she gathered the others and they gathered their things and they all headed out to find Warden Blackwall.

 

* * *

It was both surprising and not that meeting Blackwall went about the same as the game. They made their way to the lake and the cabin there, and found a small group - though more than three - of farmers wielding axes and shields as a bear of a man with an impressive beard instructed them on how to properly use the shield.

“Warden Blackwall?” Salshira called as they drew near, holding out her hands to show that she meant no harm.

He drew his sword at once anyway, and she stopped in her tracks. “You - You’re not bandits. Who are you?” he barked, but just like in the cutscene an arrow interrupted him and he caught it on his shield. “Stay back, or help!” he ordered them as he charged the bandits with his “recruits” at his side.

Salshira wasn’t quite ready to take another human life, so she gestured for the others to help if they wanted to. All three of them joined the fray, but Solas stayed by her side to cast from a distance, sharing a barrier over both of them. Salshira watched him instead of the fight, observed the way he twirled his staff to rain lightning on the bandits, then thrust it forward to shoot fire out of the end. The barrier began to fade as the sounds of battle dwindled, but he renewed it with a gesture of his hand, spreading his long fingers wide in her direction.

They waited while Warden Blackwall dismissed his “recruits” and had a moment of mourning the bandits. Then he turned to them.

“You’re no farmer,” he observed, looking at her fine armor. “Who are you? And why do you know my name?”

“I’m an agent of the Inquisition,” she told him, unwilling to use the title she’d been given. “I’m investigating whether the disappearance of Wardens is in any way connected to the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls,” he groaned, and she bit her lip at the expression. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t - No, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.” He paced a bit, then planted his feet and crossed his arms. She wondered if it was a tell. “First off, I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that, right?”  _ Is he asking me? Oh, sweetie, you’re a terrible liar. _ “No more Blight, job done, and Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you, no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.” He frowned at her and nodded as though there could be no argument, and that attitude chafed just a little too much for her to keep her mouth shut.

“But weren’t the Wardens thrown out of Ferelden for - what was it? - a couple of centuries for attempting to overthrow a king?” she asked, drawing on her memories of the first game, which she’d played so many times she’d lost count and had it mostly memorized to the point that she could quote the game as she played it. “And the current king of Ferelden was all but gifted his crown by the Hero of Ferelden, a Warden, and is a Warden, himself.” She’d listened in on enough conversations in the Crossroads to know that Alistair was ruling, though no one mentioned a queen so she wasn’t sure he had one. She also didn’t actually know who the Warden had been. She’d figure it out, though. It would be easier once she could read.

“Those were two exceptions in recorded history!” he cried, looking uncomfortable and defensive.

“ _ Recent _ recorded history,” she added softly, just to see him squirm.

“In any event, our purpose isn’t  _ supposed _ to be political, and our leaders would enforce that on the others,” he continued, glowering, and she decided to give him a break. He had the Wardens on a high pedestal and they would fall off it for him by the end without her help.

“I’m not here to accuse anyone,” she told him, backing down from their verbal sparring. “I just need information. I’ve only found you. Where are the rest?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months,” he told her, shrugging slightly.  _ How many months, oh lying liar? _ “I travel alone, recruiting.”  _ Has a single recruit of yours ever shown up to a Warden stronghold? _ “Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.” She glanced, briefly, at the dead, then in the direction the farmers had gone. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to because he saw the look. “Treaties give Wardens the right take take what we need.  _ Who _ we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me.” He looked away and then closed his eyes for a moment. “Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

“Do you know where the others might have gone?” she asked, though she knew he didn’t.

“Maybe they’ve returned to Weisshaupt? It’s our main stronghold. I don’t really know. Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once, let alone where they’d disappear to,” he replied. She wondered if the others found his reasons flimsy or if she was just affected by knowing too much.

“Why didn’t you vanish with them?” she asked him, watching him closely. He seemed to squirm slightly under her gaze.

“Maybe I was going to,” he said, sounding defensive again. “Maybe there’s a new directive, but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay like that for months. Years, even.”

She sighed, but it accidentally made her breathe the scent of the battlefield that she’d been trying to ignore and she choked on a gag. “Well, thank you  _ Warden _ Blackwall,” she said, not quite able to prevent herself from adding just a little emphasis to the lie even as she was desperate to leave the scene. “I leave with the same questions I had when I arrived. But thank you for your time.”

She turned and took a few steps, knowing she’d be stopped but hoping he’d let her get a little further from the gore. As she moved, she caught the narrow-eyed assessment that Solas had been giving her from the corners of her eyes before he tucked it way. Ah, she’d demonstrated more knowledge than he’d expected her to have. Damn it.

“Inquisition… Agent, did you say? Hold a moment,” Blackwall called, as expected. She’d managed to make it upwind of the dead, so she turned back to him. He followed a few steps toward her but stopped far enough away that he wouldn’t intimidate her with his size. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.”  _ Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, honey. It’ll get much worse before it gets better. _ “If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

Her lips quirked up a bit as she looked at him, wondering if he’d ever claim to sense darkspawn nearby at some point.  _ That’ll be a trip. _ “What can a single Grey Warden do for the Inquisition?” she asked, just to hear him say it.

“Save the fucking world, if pressed,” he growled, and she smiled at him.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall,” she told him, and he seemed to stand up straighter. “We’re heading back to a little town called the Crossroads, then likely returning to Haven. Would you like to travel with us, or meet us there?”

“If you give me five minutes to grab my things, I’ll come with you,” he said. “Not safe to travel alone in these parts, not for anyone.”

They waited nearby while Blackwall disappeared into the little cabin he’d been training his farmers out of, but Salshira was sure to stay out of scent range of the dead. She could feel the eyes of the others on her, but no one said anything even when she looked at them and gave them an opportunity. Until, just as Blackwall was coming toward them, Cassandra spoke up.

“That was well handled,” she said softly, sounding a bit surprised that they had a new recruit.

“Sometimes I can do things,” Salshira replied without bitterness, then smiled her welcome to Blackwall as he joined them.

 

* * *

When they returned to the Crossroads Salshira was informed that Redcliffe was still out of reach due to the fighting and a few rifts that Salshira definitely didn’t have the energy to close at the moment. Despite the careful pacing of the past few weeks she was drooping with weariness. She’d been informed by her self-appointed caretaker, aka Solas, that she needed at least a few days’ unbroken rest in a safe place - so not a war torn area of rough country - before she would up for more rift-closing. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She’d do no one any good if she killed herself trying to do too much at once.

So with no way into Redcliffe and her rift-closing abilities on temporary hiatus, Salshira and her group returned to Haven. Their traveling party was much larger on the return trip, their numbers bolstered by those who wanted to join the Inquisition. Many of them were driven by need, by the promise of work and food in their bellies and a warm place to sleep. Others were driven by a desire to help, those who had seen the damage this war caused and wanted to lend a hand to righting it. And yet all of them looked at her with reverence, particularly those who had witnessed her closing a rift.

It made her chafe so much that she rode out ahead of the group so she wouldn’t have to deal with wide-eyed stares as much. She didn’t really understand the worship. It made a difference, maybe, that the rumor was that her ability was god-given, but the reality of it couldn’t possibly be as awe-inspiring as they seemed to think. She’d stick her hand out, some ugly green energy would connect, she’d be writhing in agony for a minute, and then it was over. Though she supposed she’d never really seen what it looked like when the rift itself closed, and that might seem somewhat miraculous to those who didn’t have to  _ hurt so fucking much _ to make it happen.  _ Not that I’m bitter or anything. _

Blackwall rode up beside her, his horse one of Dennet’s stock, which traveled with their large group. Her own mare was much easier to ride than the retired war horse, a sweet girl already enamored with her who would toss her head just slightly whenever she wanted a few pats.  _ I’m definitely spoiling her. _ That was okay, though, as long as she still knew what to do.

“Why are you so far ahead of the group?” Blackwall asked her, peering at her curiously. “Am I interrupting something?”

Salshira sighed heavily and patted her horse’s neck again. The mare didn’t have a name yet because she couldn’t think of anything sweet enough to match. “Haven’t you noticed the way they look at me? Like I might start casting miracles with a glance. Conversations around me are pretty hushed, but elven ears are sharp and pick up far too much,” she mourned.  _ Never thought I’d miss being able to turn off my hearing aids whenever I didn’t feel like listening to people. _ “Most of the time I’d rather be alone.”

Blackwall was silent for a moment and seemed to be thinking. “I guess I hadn’t quite noticed,” he said at last. “People have always gotten a little quiet around me, first because I sprouted young and got good with a sword fast, then because I’m a Warden. Wardens tend to make people a little nervous, reminding them that Blights are always just around the corner.”

“I’d rather make people nervous,” Salshira muttered grouchily. “It’s the blind worship I can’t stand.”

“What makes it so blind?” Blackwall asked, sounding surprised, though it was a bit hard to read him behind all that facial hair. “You can do what no one else can; close the rifts. That’s a big thing, something a lot of these refugees didn’t have any hope could be done. How many of them, do you think, have lost loved ones to the rifts and their demons? How many were lost to the war that you seemed to just march right past without any problems?”

“My group was small, well armed, with no valuables, so we weren’t worth the trouble we’d bring if anyone attacked,” Salshira retorted defensively. “And closing rifts is so painful that agony is the only thing I can think of when it’s mentioned. I wasn’t given this ability by Andraste and I’m not a miracle worker. But I do have a much deeper understanding of the Fade, the rifts, and the  _ spirits _ that get pulled through. And it hurts to hear these people so casually spit the word  _ demon _ in my hearing. They praise me for  _ killing so many demons _ and don’t seem to realize that I have more in common with those spirits than I do with these people!”

She huffed, having thoroughly infuriated herself, and her horse took it upon herself to carry her mistress a little ways away from whatever had caused her such distress, trotting ahead with ears perked to listen for danger. She scrubbed her face, trying to shake off her irritation. A large part of it, she thought, was just that she was exhausted. Physically, emotionally, mentally, she was just tired. There was so much to do, to think about, to learn, and it was weighing on her already. Varric had given her a notebook to practice her letters in, but she’d already half-filled it with everything she could remember about the game she was living. She’d need another notebook soon, since she hadn’t even gotten past the details about In Hushed Whispers and Champions of the Just. All of it written in a language that apparently didn’t exist here, but that was good. Writings in a language only she could read would keep her secrets well.

Blackwall caught up to her again after a few minutes, but she didn’t look at him this time. They rode together in silence for a while, minding their mounts and the road, before he spoke again.

“I don’t consider myself a learned man,” he told her softy. “And I don’t think I know much about philosophy. I know what I see, what I do, what my senses tell me. And I think it’s important that people have something to believe in. That’s what faith is all about, really. It gives people something bigger than they are to look up to, to aspire to, to encourage them to be better than they are. Now, I don’t know if the Maker or Andraste are really out there somewhere, but I don’t think it matters as long as there’s belief.”

_ Until that belief causes war and death and demands killing for the sake of conversion, that’s a fine ideal, _ Salshira didn’t say. “But making me into anything more than a person with thoughts and feelings and aspirations all my own is a form of torture,” she said quietly. “In making me more, they’re also making me less. The spirits at the rifts didn’t choose this. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they were just trying to understand, and they were twisted by pain and confusion and they don’t know what’s happening to them. None of them ever wanted to hurt us, especially not like this. And I empathize with them far more than I do with the people who are so eager to put me on a pedestal.”

He nodded but didn’t speak again, and they rode in silence after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do these short chapters bother anyone? They're, like, half the length of Vhenan's chapters. It makes it way easier for me to update more often, but I feel like they're often too short. They're all between 3,000 and 5,000 words and that seems like not a lot? Especially since this story is clearly going to be super long. We've passed 30,000 words and haven't even gotten to Val Royeaux yet, it's gonna be a long one... (and the vast majority of it is all planned out and just waiting to spill onto the page, not to worry)


	11. Chapter 11

The hair on the shaved third of Salshira’s head was long enough by the time they returned to Haven to start tickling her ear and pissing her off, so after her report was made to her advisors she went in search of a mirror and a razor. And then she was faced with a whole new logistical problem, which was using a straight razor on her own head with only a foggy and slightly warped mirror to guide her. She’d always done her own shaving before, but that was when she’d had an electric razor with a plastic guard to help her not cut all the skin off her skull. But by moving slowly and swearing under her breath a lot and squinting to try to make the image in the mirror clearer, she eventually managed to clean up her shave without accidentally killing herself. She’d managed to nick her early slightly once, just because it was  _ so fucking long and in the way _ but otherwise she was quite impressed with herself.

As soon as she was certain she was done, she turned the mirror face down with a grimace. She hated her reflection, hated how it made her feel sick to see what wasn’t her face move in the way her face did. It wasn’t that she looked so incredibly different, because she really didn’t, but maybe that was why it was worse. It was her cheekbones, her chin, the color of her eyes and the way she wore her hair and that one little freckle on her cheek, but it wasn’t quite right. The face was too narrow, all the extra weight she’d carried smoothed away, and the eyes were too big and the ears were too long and she had a very faded green vallaslin that stretched across her forehead and down her nose, then continued on her chin that she hated to look at. It was wrong, all wrong, and it wasn’t her face, but she couldn’t stand that it was. So she didn’t look at it.

Sighing heavily, she cleaned up the hair from her desk, then gathered her soap, towel, and a change of clothes into a bag. Haven’s bath house was surprisingly nice, all things considered. Though it had taken her a bit to get used to bathing as a group and being casually naked around other people, she’d come to truly appreciate the ability to bathe in what was basically a big hot tub. The water was heated by hot rocks and braziers, fed from mountain springs, and it was surprisingly nice.

The bath was empty at that time of day, most people preferring to bathe either first thing in the morning or just before bed, and she took full advantage. Travel was hard on her need for hygiene, since there were days when there was no way anyone was going to bathe and they didn’t have the water to spare even to soap up a cloth and then rinse off. Drinking water took precedence over bath water, and it had been annoying to feel all the grit and dirt of travel on her skin and in her greasy hair. The few times they had managed to find a place to bathe, the water was so cold that she’d dunked herself in only long enough to get damp and then wash away the soap, then retreated, shivering, to her tent. Like any sane person, she much preferred the heated water of a proper bath house.

Though she’d been instructed to rest for a few days, she’d already slept herself out for the moment, so when she returned to her cabin she frowned as she thought about how to occupy her time. She’d acquired a few more notebooks and she knew she should actually practice her Trade script for once, but when she picked one up she found herself writing down the game again. Her notes had sort of shifted from an account of everything she could remember to a sort of speculative journal about what she was expecting to be different from the game as well as everything she could recall. So much was different that she’d found that she had to account for that when she thought about the decisions she’d be expected to make. If she expected everything to be the same, she’d doubtless fuck something up, and it wasn’t like she could just reload a previous save if she fucked up. The idea that what she was experiencing could be real gave her a lot of anxiety about doing it right, protecting people, playing the game even better than the game allowed.

_ Some things can be changed, right? Maybe I can save both the mages and the Templars, cut Corypheus’s army down to the Wardens and whatever others he can find. Cut his legs out from under him before he even really finds his feet. _ If it was possible to change some things, she had to find a way. Too much was at stake for her to be content with the way things happened in the game, not when she had a chance to change them.

 

* * *

A knock at her door startled her out of her note taking and she realized suddenly that her hand was cramped all to hell. She put down her pen, grimacing at the ink stains she’d gotten all over her desk from her inexperience using an inkwell, and massaged her hand as she headed for the door.

When she popped it open she was surprised to see Solas standing at the threshold. “Hey,” she greeted, rubbing her aching eyes. “Need something?”

“You missed lunch,” he informed her, and she frowned at the sun’s position low in the west. “I came to make sure you do not miss dinner, as well. You need to recover your strength, and stay healthy.”

“Oh,” she murmured inanely. “Yeah, I was just caught up in something. Didn’t realize how long I’d been at it.” She left the door open for him as she retreated back inside to close her inkwell and put away her notebooks.

“Were you practicing your letters?” he asked curiously as she closed the notebooks away in a drawer.

“Um, no,” she admitted as she hunted for her cloak. “Though I know I should have been.” Solas found her cloak before she did, in a pile near the fireplace where she’d left it after shrugging it off while she combed her wet hair and let the heat of the fire dry it out some. He held it out to her and she laughed a little at herself as she pulled it on. “Thanks. And thanks for coming to get me. I probably wouldn’t have noticed that I haven’t eaten until I got into bed.”

“It would not be advisable to continue to allow yourself to forget to eat,” he admonished gently.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” she huffed as they headed for the tavern. “But yeah, I guess I’ll try harder to remember to eat. Or something.” He chuckled just a little.

“Excuse me,” came the call when they were about halfway across town to the tavern, and Salshira turned to the voice at once. Short brown hair, shaved at the sides, a strong jaw and soft cheeks, and she was pretty sure she knew that voice. “I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“Everyone’s going to dinner right now,” Salshira told him, and she couldn’t help smiling. “They’re probably just preoccupied by hunger, but that’s rude all the same. Can I help you?”

“My name is Cremisius Aclassi and I represent a mercenary company called the Bull’s Chargers,” he said, and her smile widened.  _ I thought that was you, Krem! _ “We heard the Inquisition is hiring and our leader, Iron Bull, sent me to invite you to come see what we’re all about. Can you point me in the direction of who to talk to?”

“My name is Salshira, and it’s good to meet you,” she replied, holding out a hand for him to shake. “I honestly have no idea where my advisors vanish to during dinner, except that I’ve never seen Josephine or Leliana at the tavern. Come get something to eat with us, then we can go hunt them down.”

He shook her hand with a smile but seemed to hesitate to follow her to the tavern. She didn’t want to make him, but she did want to spend some time with him. He looked between them both for a moment, seeming to judge whether their openness was sincere, then shrugged and followed them to the tavern.

It was nice not to be constrained by the limited and, at times, insensitive dialogue options when talking to Krem. Not everything had to be about the Chargers or the fact that he was trans, and they could just chat about smaller things. Once she showed him that she genuinely cared what he had to say, it was easy to talk. She asked him where he was from, and he got uncomfortable again until she made it clear that she was very interested in the Imperium from the point of view of a non-mage. He didn’t really talk about himself in the Imperium, but he happily told her about the politics and customs for those without magic, and it was a fascinating discussion for her despite the fact that she could feel Solas’s eyes on her and knew she was revealing that she knew too much again. But she couldn’t help it as she got sucked into talking about the way the commoner class of Tevinter, who couldn’t afford slaves, viewed them. It was like her two favorite hobbies had been rolled into one conversation; the game, and learning about foreign affairs.

“You talk like you’ve spent time in Tevinter,” Krem noted as they finished their meal, almost making Salshira choke.

“Oh, no!” she told him, attempting to backpedal just a tad. “I just like to talk to people and know things.” The feeling of Solas’s eyes boring into the side of her face intensified, and she suppressed a wince.

Once they’d taken their bowls up Salshira gestured for Krem to follow her. “Come on, we’ll see if we can’t find someone to talk to about hiring the Chargers,” she said, and Krem smiled as he moved to join her, but Solas caught her arm.

“If you wish to continue your lessons tonight, come to my cabin once you are finished,” he told her softly, his gaze gentle. But she could read tension in his shoulders and she knew that more was going on in his head than just thoughts of her magic lessons. She nodded pleasantly to him anyway before wandering off with Krem, heading for the War Room in the Chantry.

“So, uh,” Krem started, playing with his fingers. “That elf. Is he your lover?”

She snorted, mostly because part of her very much wished he was, but mostly because she was surprised by the question. “Closer to my tutor, actually,” she told him. She held out her hand and the mark sparked a bit, as it tended to do when she got tired. “After this happened, I suddenly found myself in need of a fair bit of tutoring.”

Krem stopped dead in his tracks and she paused to look back at him curiously. “You… You’re the Herald of Andraste?” he asked, as though he truly hadn’t known who he was talking to.

She made a face. “Well, they like to call me that, but that doesn’t make it true,” she told him. Then a sudden realization made her scowl. “Wait a minute, I told you my name when we met. Are you telling me that my story and my title are getting spread around  _ without _ my name attached? Fuck, that’s dehumanizing… People are talking about me with no idea who I am? Fuck that.”

Krem gave a startled chuckle. “Yeah, I guess they are,” he admitted as he started moving again. “I never did hear your name whenever I heard about you. That seems wrong, especially now that I’ve met you. All the stories make you sound like some great, larger than life woman who stoically carries the weight of the world.” She snorted hard, and he chuckled. “None of that really seems to fit you, though. And I’m pretty sure that a few versions of it don’t even mention that you’re an elf.”

“Of course they don’t,” she grumbled. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely drowning in all this responsibility I suddenly have to deal with, but I really don’t think I’ve ever in my life been described as ‘great’ or especially ‘stoic.’”

He laughed, and it was a lovely sound that made her stare at the way his face lit up. “No, I really don’t think ‘stoic’ is a good word for you,” he chuckled, then caught her staring. Both of them blushed as she looked away.

She was saved from having to figure out how to break through the sudden awkward silence by their arrival at the Chantry. She shoved open one of the doors just enough to slip inside, then shivered at the sudden change of temperature. Looking around, she didn’t really see anyone, so she headed for the back and opened the door.

“Cullen!” she cried in surprise when she found a blond head bent over their maps and notes that were scattered on the war table. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find the Commander working late,” she said with a smile as he looked up, startled.

“Salshira,” he greeted, his voice sounding like gravel. Her brows shot up and she went to the table where they kept refreshments, pouring a cup of wine for him that he downed too fast. “What time is it?” he asked, gasping slightly. She took his cup and filled it again as she shrugged.

“Dinner’s just about over,” she told him. “Maybe you should go eat.”

“It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head. When she frowned and opened her mouth to argue he gave her a smile and said, “Flissa’s taken to saving me a bowl every night. I’ll go get it from her in a bit. What do you need?”

Salshira sighed, but got down to business. “This is Cremisius Aclassi,” she said, gesturing to Krem, who stood at parade rest. “He’s with a mercenary company called the Bull’s Chargers, who want to work for the Inquisition.”

“Our leader, Iron Bull, would like to extend an invitation to see us in action,” Krem continued for her. “There’s a lot of bandits up on the Storm Coast, and we’ve been cutting swaths through them. Iron Bull thinks it would be good for you to see what you’d be getting if you hire us on, and sent me to deliver the message as his second in command.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, looking tired. “We don’t have a lot of people to spare at the moment, I’m afraid,” he said, sorting through a few pages. “I rather wish your leader had simply brought the company here.”

“I’ll go,” Salshira offered, leaning against a wall. Two heads swiveled to look at her.

“Josephine needs you to go to Val Royeaux,” Cullen informed her. “She wants you to speak to the Clerics who seem to be gathering there, and follow up on the names Mother Giselle has provided us.”

“Then I’ll go after I’m done in Val Royeaux,” she said, shrugging. “There’s plenty of rifts at the Coast that need to be closed,” she reminded him when he still looked like he wanted to argue. “I’d have to go eventually anyway. Why not make it a priority? Leave the Charges to keep taking out bandits until I can get there with some soldiers to stabilize the area, and potentially pick up some new muscle while I’m there. Assuming the Chargers perform as advertised, of course.” She knew they would, she just said it to appease her Commander.

“We will,” Krem asserted with a nod, and she smiled at him.

Cullen seemed to think about it a little longer, then sighed and some tension drained from him. “Very well, then. I’ll talk to Josephine and Leliana about it.”

“Thanks, Cullen,” Salshira said. He nodded.

“Get some rest,” he told her. “Cremisius, can I speak to you a while longer?”

Salshira left them to it with a jaunty wave, then went to go find Solas in his cabin. She knew that she couldn’t avoid his careful, probing questions, and she’d rather fend off his attempts to get her to reveal herself than miss her magic lesson. She seemed to be slightly electrocuting herself when she got irritated lately, and that was just annoying and needed to stop. When she knocked on his door it opened almost at once and Solas stepped aside to let her in.

His cabin was smaller than hers, but not by very much since all the cabins were small, and it had a lot more in it. Mostly he had piles of books everywhere, and his small desk was absolutely covered in loose paper and notebooks.

“Quite a collection,” she observed, wishing she could read the gilt lettering on the covers and spines.

“Research,” he told her. “I am attempting to find anything I can on what might have caused the Breach. Anything that could cause that much devastation must be powerful. We would do well to recover it.”

“You think it survived the explosion?” she asked him, tilting her head at him.

“I believe it would be foolish to assume that it was destroyed simply because we have not found it,” he countered. “After all, whoever caused the explosion and opened the Breach has not yet been found, or revealed themselves. It seems likely that their plans did not end at the Conclave, and we should not rule out the threat.”

“Always planning for the worst, aren’t you?” she asked him with a wry smile that he returned.

“Perhaps blind optimism in the past has made me more wary,” he said, and she couldn’t help but notice that he’d phrased his statement in the hypothetical.  _ Are you trying to misdirect me, Solas? What are you hiding this time, I wonder? _ But she let it pass by without comment.

“So, to get down to our lessons, I seem to be shocking myself lately,” she told him, sitting on the floor by his fire. He joined her, and guided her through how to separate her magic from her emotions.

“You seem quite knowledgeable about foreign affairs,” Solas observed as the lesson ended and they began  _ aju’elvyral’dun _ , beginning with their stretches. “In the past, you’ve demonstrated knowledge of the caste system of Orzammar, you spoke to Warden Blackwall about the Warden’s history in Ferelden, and tonight you seemed to know a great deal about the Tevinter Imperium.”

_ I was wondering when you’d call me on it, _ Salshira thought to herself. She attempted a shrug, but because she was pulling her arm across her body it didn’t quite have the desired effect. “Like I told Krem, I like to talk to people and know things,” she said, but he shook his head.

“Asking individuals about their culture would leave you with wildly different tales depending on the individual’s point of view,” he reminded her. “You have not been demonstrating anecdotal evidence of the way these cultures function. You said, once, just after we met, that you like to read. You have since demonstrated that you lack that skill, and are working to correct that. You’ve contradicted yourself on many occasions, but this one I find quite puzzling.”

“Have I?” she asked, quite proud of how light and almost disinterested her tone was. “Are you sure you’re remembering correctly? Like you said, I clearly can’t read, so why would I have said that I like to read? Makes no sense. And anyway, if you talk to enough people with different points of view on the same place or culture you can eventually come up with a much more stable view of the subject matter. Then it no longer becomes anecdotal evidence, does it? That’s how research is generally done in the field, right? Talk to a whole lot of people, extract the facts from the perceptions, write a really dry book about your findings, sell it to a university in Val Royeaux. Right?”

He looked at her like he might be able to peel away all her own misdirections if he just looked hard enough at her. “More or less,” he said, and let the subject drop. She had a feeling that wasn’t the end of it, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm making a lot of progress here...  
> So, Solas makes that confrontation a couple of you guys mentioned, as planned. It is so fun to write them trying to out-lie to each other! Both their pants are on fire and they both blame each other for the smoke. I love it!


	12. Chapter 12

She found the clearing in the Fade by simply stumbling across it, a wisp that would one day be Curiosity vibrating with glee. The wisp had become her shadow when she slept, finding her no matter where she entered from and watching everything she did with endless fascination, always sticking close to her. Now, however, it zoomed on ahead with a sound that seemed like giggling, greeting the many spirits who seemed to congregate nearby. Curiously, Salshira followed it to explore.

The grass was waist high and parted before her as though a light breeze preceded her every step, but she saw places where there were books stacked on top of the blades as though they were a table, and something about that tickled her memory. She looked up when her wisp squealed with sudden glee and dove to greet someone else, who spoke to it in a melodic voice that seemed to speak every language at once, a beautiful sound that was quite confusing to the ear. Then the spirit looked at Salshira with a smile and beckoned her over.

“Ah, here you are!” she said, her glowing green face lighting up even more as she tucked emerald hair behind a pointed ear. “The keeper of my little friend.”

“I keep nothing,” Salshira told her, not wanting her to think the wisp wasn’t free to choose.

The spirit only smiled. “I use the term to refer to protection, not slavery,” she clarified gently, and her voice was still sort of freaking Salshira out because it didn’t sound like any language she knew and yet she could understand perfectly. “Even if you knew how to bind a spirit, I truly don’t believe you would ever make the attempt. You’ve seen far too many spirits bound by a nature not their own, haven’t you, Herald of Andraste?”

Salshira tensed, peering at the spirit to attempt to determine her nature. “Are you Knowledge?” she asked, though she’d only encountered one once.

“Wisdom,” she corrected, and Salshira froze in something approaching terror. Green female-presenting spirit of Wisdom quite possibly meant something rather significant that she really didn’t want to face. But before she could question the spirit or retreat she said, “Yes, that Wisdom. A friend to Fen’Harel who has been watching you since your arrival. And you’ve been here before, do you remember?” Salshira gaped openly, unable to respond, and the spirit sighed, seemingly in regret. “You were beset by the malicious nature of some of my kin, and I couldn’t help you then. There were too many, and they were too strong for me and my friends.” The wisps that congregated in the spirit’s clearing all fluttered as attention was called to them. “You were snatched from my home before I’d said more than a sentence to you, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I did send Solas to you when I could, to make him help.”

“You’re why he found me?” Salshira asked, astonished.

“It was all I could do to help,” the spirit told her. “I wasn’t strong enough, and I couldn’t teach you to protect yourself. He could. Solas can be a stubborn man, and he needed the kick.”

Salshira was quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” she said at last. “Being able to sleep is… Well, it’s necessary, if nothing else.” The spirit chuckled.

“You are so beset by questions,” it observed. “I see them all around you! So many, and so much worry. I’m afraid that it’s no surprise that those demons liked you so much. You have so many negative feelings to feed from.” The spirit approached and put her hands on Salshira’s shoulders. “I don’t have as many answers as you might hope, little one,” she said. “And I cannot guide you on your journey. I can’t convince you that any of this real, or tell you if might ever see the world you were born to again.”

“But you know who I am,” Salshira clarified, since that seemed to be the case.

The spirit nodded. “I know enough,” she told her guest. “But I’m afraid that there’s not much I can do for you except offer comfort when I can.”

“Can you help me learn?” Salshira asked quickly. “Do you know what’s happening in Thedas?”

The spirit smiled. “I’m afraid most of my knowledge is of the past,” she said, and Salshira let that hope die. “I will share some of my books with you, if you wish,” she added, and Salshira smiled at her.

“I’d like that,” she admitted, and a wisp dropped a book on her head.

 

***

Val Royeaux was further than the places in the Hinterlands Salshira had traveled to before, but there were also more inns and taverns that they could take advantage of, rather than sleeping in tents or beneath the stars. It helped as well that their group was much smaller this time. They didn’t want the attention that a large group of well armed people would draw, so it was just the five of them. Blackwall had been offered a chance to stay behind in Haven to learn his way around, but he’d grunted about disliking boredom and asked to accompany them. He was good company, Salshira had to admit. Comfortable on the road and full of funny stories, either his own or those he’d heard from other soldiers, he had her laughing the whole trip.

Her lessons continued on the road, as expected. She’d graduated to actually learning some simple spells with Solas, though he encouraged her to continue her meditation on her own. She did just that, because it helped her focus and be less likely to have another freak out about the fact that she was  _ living her favorite game. _ She was actually doing pretty well with adjustment, even though she still got awful shivers whenever she saw her own reflection. Under Solas’s careful tutoring, she’d learned to cast a mage light, she lit their campfires whenever they had need of one, she lit her own candles whenever they stayed at an inn, and at one point she accidentally hit their campfire with lightning because she got distracted by a poor, stupidly loud bird that was way too close. Solas and Varric between them had her reading every road sign they passed until she growled whenever one of them opened their mouth near a sign, her head aching from the repetition.

Val Royeaux, when they finally arrived, looked about like she’d expected. In their attempt to avoid notice and thus the main roads, they rode through the outskirts, between the rich and sprawling mansions outside the city’s limits and the rich center of the city. The people there were poor and that was reflected in dingy walls and the scent of piss and decay, windows with ragged shutters and no glass, and a few drunk chevaliers harassing the locals. Salshira rode through looking straight ahead so that she wouldn’t start firing at them. She was grateful that they skirted the alienage entirely.

After what they saw in the poorer districts, the city’s center pissed her off more than it impressed her, wrought iron lamp posts with stained glass color coded to indicate district, gold gilt on the bright stucco walls of shops that sold overpriced finery, their signs painted with the finest pigments money could buy. She wanted to throw some mud at them all, and had to actively work not to scowl.

They left their horses and a deposit at the inn Josephine had arranged for them while they were in the city, then waded through the crowds on foot, moving ever closer to the main square and the gathering they were informed of in a whisper by a disguised agent.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” a woman in Chantry clothing announced in a well-projected voice to the large crowd in the square.  With Cassandra and Blackwall up front to clear the way, they began to gently carve their way through the masses of people to the front. “Together we mourn our Divine, her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery!” The Templars that flanked her surveyed the crowd, but neither looked particularly thrilled to be there. Both of them zeroed in on Salshira as soon as she was within easy view and didn’t look away. One glared, the other, a black man with kind eyes, surveyed her with curiosity. She wondered if he was Knight-Templar Barris, the one who would actually try to listen to her if she took the path of Champions of the Just. “You wonder what will become of her murderer,” the Chantry woman continued as her eyes found Salshira as well. “Wonder no more! Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell! We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!” Salshira rolled her eyes.

She stood a little straighter and couldn’t help but notice that Solas had slipped away from their group. “I never claimed the title that was given to me,” she reminded the crowd. “I have never claimed to have been sent by Andraste, but I’d be very interested to hear why you think the Maker or his Bride would never send a descendant of the people that aided Andraste so much in her march against the Tevinter Empire. I’m quite sure it has little to do with the words of the Chant itself and more to do with modern prejudice.” Murmurs spread through the crowd and Cassandra gave her a look, though Blackwall looked to be muffling laughter in his beard. She raised her voice over the crowd before the woman on stage could formulate a response. “But it doesn’t matter. Who sent me, if anyone, has nothing to do with my goals. The people of Thedas should be focused on the true enemy! The Breach in the sky must be closed, the damage mitigated, and those responsible for it must be brought to justice!” 

Cassandra spoke up before the Chantry woman, who was turning red, could interject. “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” she cried.

“It is already too late!” the woman snarled as the clanking of plate armor grew to near deafening levels. Salshira wondered if she knew that it sounded like she was claiming alliance with the very forces that the Inquisition had  _ literally just said _ they were going to stop.  _ Give an idiot a megaphone and they’ll make an ass of themselves, _ Salshira thought as she watched a very large group of Templars in full armor march into the square in formation, scattering people as they went.

It was easy to find the Lord Seeker among them because he stood out like a sore thumb. Flanked by Knights wearing full helms, he had odd ornamentation on his armor that whispered to her even from this distance, singing at the edge of her hearing even over the clamor of all that armor. The man himself looked odd, greasy and waxy and almost distorted in a way she couldn’t quite define. It was odd that anyone really thought he was the actual Lord Seeker when it was like looking at a CGI character deep in the Uncanny Valley to Salshira. Everything about him was just a little bit off.

“The Templars have returned to the Chantry!” the woman said as the Lord Seeker and his officers ascended to her stage. “They will face this ‘Inquisition’ and the people will be safe once more!” The Lord Seeker walked right past her without even glancing in her direction, then one of his officers delivered a powerful punch to her head that dropped her instantly. The crowd backed away and someone screamed, cries of astonishment spreading as other Chantry members rushed to her aid.

“Still yourself!” the Lord Seeker told the Templar she’d concluded was Barris. “She is beneath us.” He seemed to harden himself, but Salshira could see in his eyes that he was shaken by what was happening. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Salshira called to him, stepping forward.

The moment those eyes were trained on her she felt dizzy and sick, like she was looking into a rift. “Her claim to ‘authority’ is an insult,” he declared as she swayed on her feet just slightly. “Much like your own.” He turned from her and began to return to the small army he’d brought with him.

Cassandra moved to follow as Salshira attempted to recover from the disorientation of looking into the eyes of a very powerful demon. “Lord Seeker Lucius,” she called to him,” it’s imperative that we speak with -”

“You will not address me,” he snarled, not bothering to look at her. She stopped in her tracks as Salshira and Blackwall caught up to her.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra murmured, looking shocked by his coldness.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet,” he sneered, and the waxiness of his skin somehow translated to his tone as he glared Cassandra down. “You should be ashamed.” He raised his voice to address the crowd, which had thinned but not dispersed as it gave them a wide berth. “You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!” He pointed then at Cassandra and Salshira, and it looked oddly like a child attempting to place blame on another for their own misdeed. “You are the ones who have failed! You, who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is  _ mine! _ ” 

Knowing what she did about the Lord Seeker and what he truly was, Salshira ignored him as she gazed over the crowd of Templars. She let her eyes settle on Barris for a moment as she addressed them. “Templars! One of your own commands the Inquisition’s forces with honor and integrity. Every Templar in our ranks has chosen to follow because they know that we are fighting for what truly matters, and they want to be a part of that. They want to help close the Breach and bring peace to Thedas! Join us, as they did, as Commander Cullen did, and we will give you that same chance!”

“Oh, the Breach is indeed a threat,” Lucius snarled, “but you certainly have no power to do anything about it.” She let the mark in her palm flare just then, partly in irritation and partly to remind them all that she had it.

Barris moved forward then, and she gave him a gentle and subtle smile. “But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker?” he asked, keeping his voice soft. “What if -”

“You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question!” one of the officers interrupted, a sickly-looking man beneath his full helm who sang to her of red lyrium almost as much as Lucius. Barris glared at him silently, and Salshira found it interesting that he didn’t passively back down.

“ _ I _ will make the Templar Order a force that stands alone against the Void,” Lucius continued, staring Barris down until he looked away. “We  _ deserve _ recognition. Independence!” He glared at Salshira again and she stared at his nose so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition - less than nothing!” He spun on his heel as his people saluted, but many of them hesitated. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

The awful clanking of plate armor resumed as the group of Templars marched away, but a number of them glanced back curiously. She hoped that meant a coming influx of Templar recruits to the Inquisition, but she wasn’t sure she could count on them making it that far. Corypheus’s hold on the Templars was already strong, she knew, and she wasn’t sure she could break it without direct intervention.

She didn’t realize that the mark was still sparking with her agitation until Solas gently took her hand, having rejoined them without her noticing, and calmed it with his magic. Startled, she gripped his hand for a moment before smiling her thanks at him and releasing him.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric commented.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra cried, still staring after him, agape. 

Salshira cringed. “Perhaps this isn’t the best place for this conversation,” she murmured, gazing around them and meeting the eyes of all their gawkers until they turned away. Cassandra gritted her teeth but relented and began to head in the general direction of the inn.

Just before they left the square, there was a call that caught their attention. “If I might have a moment of your time.” Salshira turned, tensing, wondering what fresh horror she’d find in what may or may not be Grand Enchanter Fiona.

As expected, the dark-skinned woman didn’t quite look right. She looked a lot more real than the Envy demon that wore the Lord Seeker’s appearance, but there was an odd, glazed look in her eyes, and all her expressions came just a beat too late or too early, giving Salshira chills.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra said wonderingly.

Solas added, “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Fiona look at them both with her creepy dead fish eyes, then looked at Salshira. “I heard of this gathering,” she told them, “And I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among the mages.”

Salshira stared at her with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out if Fiona was being controlled somehow or if this was only a facsimile. “We were unable to reach Redcliffe before,” she reminded the Grand Enchanter’s visage.

“And yet by now your soldiers will have returned some stability to the area,” Fiona said smoothly, easily. “Enough that you might reach our gates. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: Come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, lady Herald.” She gave a shallow bow before she disappeared into the crowd. Salshira snorted, then kept walking toward the inn with her companions.

When they were about halfway back, an arrow suddenly thunked into the stucco just before them, making Cassandra and Blackwall draw their swords in the mostly empty street. Salshira turned just fast enough to catch a flash of red and yellow disappearing over the edge of a nearby rooftop, and smirked. She turned to the arrow and untied the note from the shaft.

“What’s that?” Cassandra asked, sheathing her sword and peering at the message. “An arrow with a message?”

Salshira read the note silently to herself before reading it aloud to her companions to make sure she had it right. “‘People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for red things in the market on Juniper Street, down at the docks near the big ship with the yellow sails, and ‘round the cafe all in purple, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords.’ And look, a little map of where to search.” She handed the page to Cassandra, who showed it to the others.

“This sounds like a trap,” Cassandra said, frowning.

Salshira snorted. “Not really,” she said, trying not to mention that she knew who sent the letter and knew that she was definitely not interested in trying anything of the sort. “Sounds like someone who wants to know if we can make use of their talents, someone who hasn’t cared about pesky little things like the law in a long time. I’d like to pursue it.”

Cassandra looked dubious, but Blackwall nodded and Varric shrugged. Solas offered no opinion. She looked at Blackwall, since he probably knew the city best.

“Do you know what cafe the note means?” she asked him. He took the page from Cassandra careful and frowned at it in thought.

“The only one I know that fits what we’re given is Rêves de Lavande,” he said. “It’s supposed to be famous both for the alarmingly purple decor and for using lavender in everything they serve. Coincidentally, it’s not far from Juniper Street. And I suppose Juniper Street isn’t too far from the docks, either.”

“That’s probably on purpose,” Varric suggested.

“Regardless, let’s go,” Salshira said, gesturing for Blackwall to lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew, a game dialogue-heavy chapter. I knew I couldn't avoid it forever, but I hoped!  
> Anyone care to hazard a guess as to which of the main quests Salshira is going to choose? Poor girl is about to face her hardest decision yet! ... In a while. There's still some other stuff that needs to happen before then. Like companion recruitment!  
> Aaaaaand Wisdom knows way too much for comfort! I really love the Fade, okay.


	13. Chapter 13

The clues wrapped in red cloth were exactly where they should have been, and Salshira read each of them carefully. An alley to search, a key to use, and a time to be there to catch the culprits in the act. They still had several hours until the meeting time, so they returned to the inn they were staying at to discuss the situation at hand.

“Excuse me, Lady Herald,” a young servant said meekly as they entered the main room of the tavern. “A message for you, ma’am.” The girl held out an ornate letter on expensive linen paper, which Salshira took slowly, blinking. As the servant fled, she tried to make sense of the stylized gilt lettering on the front.

“Fuck, I can’t read this,” she finally mumbled, and held it out to whoever wanted to read it for her.

It was Solas who gently extracted the letter from her hand. “‘The Lady Salshira, Herald of Andraste,’ it says on the front,” he told her. She made a face, but didn’t comment. A gentle application of magic that fascinated her had the wax seal popped up cleanly. “The seal of House Ghislain. And the letter…” He paused for a moment to read and Salshira suddenly remembered who else she was supposed to pick up while she was in Val Royeaux and had to suppress a sudden smile. “An invitation for the Lady Herald to attend a party at the Ghislain estate, hosted by Grand Enchanter Vivienne, mistress of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. She wishes to meet and discuss the current state of affairs.”

“Okay, cool, that’s nice,” Salshira said, taking the invitation back and tucking it into its envelope. “So we have a meeting to crash and a party to attend. Fun.”

They ordered some food to be sent up to Salshira’s room, which was obnoxiously large and opulent. The others were paired up in double rooms, but as the  _ fabled Herald of fucking Andraste _ the tavern owner had insisted on bumping her up to a fancier suite without charging them more than their initial reservation.  _ I mean, I get the intent, but I’m also super uncomfortable in this damn honeymoon suite. It’s still better than getting spit on for murdering the Divine, but bleh. _ While they waited for food everyone took a few minutes to freshen up, change out of their travel clothes and wash up a little, though no one wanted to take a real bath until after they’d crashed the meeting. Salshira knew blood would almost certainly be spilled and she was trying to psych herself up for it, and failing. She’d never be good at killing, she was quite certain.

Food arrived, and she knocked the doors to her companions’ rooms to let them know it was time. The stew was hearty and flavorful, the bread was crisp and fresh, and she hummed happily as she tasted the herbal tea. The others trickled in, and as Blackwall entered last he locked the door.

“So did anyone else feel nauseated looking at the Lord Seeker?” Salshira asked once everyone had a bowl in front of them.

“I find it hard to believe that he could have changed so much in the time since I knew him,” Cassandra said, scowling.

“That’s not what I asked, though,” Salshira told her. “I felt physically sick looking at him. Was I the only one?” The more she’d thought about what had happened, the more certain she’d become that the strange almost vertigo she’d experienced when she met his eyes wasn’t just because she knew too much. “Also, did he look kind of sick to any of you? He looked a little… waxy, to me.”

“I think he was sweating,” Blackwall suggested, mopping at the drops of stew in his beard.

“It was more than that,” Varric said. “I agree with you, Midnight. Meeting his eyes made me kind of dizzy, and he looked half dead.”

“Midnight?” Salshira asked, tilting her head.

Varric nodded, looking distracted. “Night is soft and soothing and relaxed, but midnight is also when the Veil feels thinnest and when all the creepy stuff starts happening, kind of spooky if you’re into that.”

Salshira thought about it for a moment. “Nickname accepted,” she finally said, and poured herself some more tea. Blackwall chuckled.

“I attempted to stay back in case the Templars realized that I am an apostate,” Solas told them. “I did not get a very good look at any of them.”

“If you don’t want to be outed as an apostate, maybe don’t carry a staff,” Salshira told him with a smirk, and he smiled.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said innocently. “It is a walking stick.” She chuckled.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Cassandra interjected, and Salshira rolled her eyes. “Are you suggesting that something is wrong with the Lord Seeker? That perhaps he’s being controlled somehow?”

“No, not really,” Salshira said, shrugging. “I just said he seems off. But in any event, I’m hoping we won a few recruits from those that were here today. But now that the Templars have fucked off to who-knows-where with their crazy leader, how are we going to make an alliance?”

“We will need to locate their stronghold, first,” Solas observed as Blackwall stroked his beard.

“But Grand Enchanter Fiona just extended an open invitation to Redcliffe,” Varric said. “Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just march into Redcliffe and recruit the mages?”

“Yes, assuming it’s actually that simple. But what, Varric, has been simple yet?” she asked, scowling into her mug. “I highly doubt that we can just waltz in there and get what we need. If anything so far has screamed ‘trap’ at the top of its lungs, it’s the way Fiona extended her invitation.”

“I agree,” said Cassandra. “Something seemed off about the Grand Enchanter.”

“Oh, that you notice, but the Lord Seeker was just fine?” Salshira asked harshly, her snarky inner dialogue slipping past her teeth before she could stop it. Cassandra scowled but said nothing.

“You’re going to have to make a choice,” Blackwall told her. “You can’t be in two places at once, and I have a hard time believing that whichever group you visit second will be willing to ally with us when we’ve taken their enemy under our wing.”

Salshira sighed heavily. The choice was exactly what she wanted to avoid. “Do you think one of them might see an ambassador in my place?” she asked.

“They’ll see it as favoritism, and likely be insulted,” Cassandra told her. She put her head in her hands.

“Why can’t I have both?” she murmured to herself, wracking her brain for any other options.

“You do not need to decide right now,” Solas reminded her, his voice soft. She took a breath and shook away the gloom.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, summoning a smile. “I’ll talk to Josephine about it when we get back. Maybe she has some ideas. Anyway, for now we have other things to do. There’s still, what, an hour until the meeting. And this party in a few days.” She waved the invitation. “Do I need a dress or something? Can I show up to a fancy Orlesian party in my armor?”

Cassandra made a face, but it was Blackwall who spoke. “I wouldn’t, not if you want to be taken seriously. But we  _ are _ in Val Royeaux. Getting you a dress is just a matter of waving coin at the right mask.”

“But do we have enough coin for a rush order?” Solas asked.

Cassandra shrugged. “We have  _ some, _ at least.”

“I can get more,” Varric said, and everyone turned to look at him. “What? I have business interests in this city, like everyone else! I just need to go knock on the right door.”

“Okay, that’s settled,” Salshira sigh, sighing. “For now, why don’t we all get a little rest before we go see what’s brewing in a back alley?”

 

* * *

The alley was dark, the lamps unlit for some reason. As though that wasn’t a dead giveaway in a wealthy part of the city. The door was blue and the paint was scuffed, but the key opened it with a soft click and it swung open on well-oiled hinges.

A small burst of fire was aimed at her head and she ducked instinctually. A second one was dodged and she reacted without thought, a hand extended and a burst of her own fire shot back. It was unsteady, powered by a jolt of panic, but it hit its mark. The mage who had cast at her brushed it away, however, his coat singed but otherwise unharmed.

“Herald of Andraste!” he cried, standing as tall as his short frame could in his heels. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition  _ immeasurably! _ ” 

She gave him a flat look. “I don’t know who you are,” she told him honestly. Had his character even had a name in the game? He was just the recruitment mission, expendable.

“You don’t fool me!” he told her, posturing like a peacock. “I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think so,” Salshira said, bored of him already. Someone choked as they died, something crashed, and the posturing idiot turned toward the disturbance.

A slender elf in a ragged red shirt and dark leggings trained her arrow on him. “Just say, ‘what!’” she told him.

“What is the -” he began, and then was immediately silenced by the arrow being loosed. Salshira kept her eyes on the elf instead of the man with the shaft sticking out of his eye.

The elf walked forward, her bow down at her side, ignoring the fact that Salshira’s companions all had their weapons drawn on her. “Yuegh!” she cried, making a face at the dead man. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? ‘Just say what!’ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.” She leaned down to pull on the arrow, a foot on his neck for leverage. “‘Blah, blah, blah! Obey me, arrow in my face!’” The arrow came free with a sickening noise that turned Salshira’s stomach, though she managed to keep her face straight. Sera started wiping off the arrow on a stained cloth as she finally turned to Salshira. “Well, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re - And you’re an elf! Well… Hope you’re not… too elfy.” She shook herself briefly. “I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?”

Salshira raised her brows and blinked.  _ Wow, Sera’s really just like that, isn’t she? Nice. _ “Yeah, I’m the Herald thingy,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“No idea, I don’t know this idiot from manners,” she said, gazing with distaste again at the dead man. “My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people?” Salshira asked.

“Yeah. Friends of Red Jenny,” she clarified. There was a crash nearby and suddenly she was bouncing on her toes. “Name’s Sera. This is cover,” she gestured to a group of crates. “Get round it! For the reinforcements!” Salshira did just that, drawing her bow and putting an arrow to it as a door at the other end of the alley was smashed open. “Don’t worry, someone tipped me their supply shed. They’ve got no breeches!”

A barrier fell over her skin and she glared at Sera. “Why didn’t you take their weapons?” she asked. 

Then the guards came into view and she snickered at the way they all moved like they were walking on eggshells, legs exposed to the night. “Because no breeches!” Sera hissed, laughing. She loosed an arrow.

Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, and it made a lot of things easier. Her body knew what to do even if her mind still rebelled, and the threat of death kicked her fighting instincts into overdrive. Arrows flew from her bow as well as Sera’s, and her targets went down cleanly. It didn’t take long, not even a minute, before the dozen guards without pants were all dead. Cass and Blackwall began to wipe the blood off their shields as Sera turned to Salshira again.

“Friends really came through with that tip!” she cried, then turned to start retrieving arrows. “No breeches!” She snickered again as she pulled an arrow free. Salshira went to one of the guards with her arrow lodged in his heart and made herself look at him. She hadn’t really been able to look last time, had vomited too fast, but it was a harsh reality that she’d have to get used to this. Her stomach turned to see the horror frozen on his face, to smell his death, but she made herself yank out the arrow anyway. The squelching of the blood around the wound made a tremor travel up her spine and nausea formed a stone in her throat. A hand found her shoulder, and she turned to see Solas at her side.

“You not have to do this,” he whispered to her. “Allow me.”

“I need to get used to it,” she said just as softly.

“But not all at once,” he offered, and she nodded gratefully. He retrieved the rest of her arrows for her.

Sera all but skipped back over to her with a fistful of blood arrows. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join!”

“Hold on, aren’t you going to explain any of this?” Salshira asked, because her companions needed to know. “Who are you people?”

“I’m not ‘people.’ But I get what you want. It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me! Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall, and there were three in Starkhaven. Brothers, I think. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, ‘friends,’ be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I used them to help you! Plus arrows.” She shrugged, like it was that easy. 

“So, you offer tips and information that we wouldn’t otherwise be able to get, from people close to the problems?” she asked, trying to put it into words. She understood how it worked, but she needed her companions to, as well. Cassandra was still eyeing Sera in a way that was worrisome.

“Here’s how it is. You important people are up here, shoving your cods around, and then you’ve got cloaks and spy-kings, like this tit. Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his ‘little knife?’ But all those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not a spy, but if you don’t listen down here too you risk your breeches. Like those guards? I stole their - Look, do you need people, or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Salshira smiled. It was a bit of a trip to listen to Sera, but it was also kind of nice. She was rather blunt, and it was refreshing. “Alright, Sera,” she said, despite the slight sound of choking from Cassandra. “We can use you and your friends.”

“Yes!” Sera cried, punching the air. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be!”

Salshira laughed a little. “We have more business in the city before we go back to Haven,” she told the girl. “Do you want to stick around with us, or head for Haven on your own?”

“Ugh, I am so done with this city,” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll head out on my own. Maybe you’ll catch up to me on the road, though.”

Work done, they returned to the inn for the night. In the morning, they’d be hunting down a tailor for the party, and then Salshira wasn’t quite sure how they’d pass the time until the party.

 

* * *

Tailors were everywhere in the city, but one willing to work a rush job for the Herald of Andraste was a little more difficult to find. They didn’t have the support of the people yet and a lot of doors were slammed in their faces. Some were slammed as soon as they saw pointed ears, before any names were even dropped, and it began to wear on Salshira. She was having a hard time masking how cranky she was getting when, at last, they found a tailor who fell all over herself to dress the infamous Herald of Andraste.

Careful measurements were taken in a flurry by three young women at the same time, who somehow never tripped over each other, while the woman who ran the shop talked loudly to herself about colors and patterns and materials and didn’t quite seem to hear when Salshira told her no, she wasn’t going to wear a solid gold dress. That was a bit worrisome, but she refused to attempt to find a tailor who might actually listen to her preferences after the day she’d had.

She was still cranky and irritable by the time they left, but at least she had a dress that would be ready by the time they had to leave for the Ghislain estate. Her companions took pity on her and how overwhelmed by the noise of the city she was and they took her to a small, quiet tea shop to make her feel better. It worked, the lovely tea and much calmer atmosphere soothing her nerves considerably, though she had to bite back comments about Solas’s glass of water while the rest of them drank tea that were less snarky and more flirty than she’d like.

 

* * *

“Um… There’s no back?” Salshira observed as the tailor showed them the dress.

“There’s straps!” the woman said as she pinned the hem to the correct length.

“Strings,” Salshira corrected, looking in the mirror at the asymmetrical stings that criss crossed her bare back. The tailor grunted at her. “Also, aren’t those huge skirts currently in fashion? Isn’t this, I don’t know, kind of slender and revealing?”

“You must stand out!” the tailor told her, clearly quite over the novelty of dressing the Herald of Whatever. “You are not an Orlesian noble and you should not pretend to be. You have all these muscles and they deserve to be seen! Show off your archer’s shoulders and everyone will swoon while they also learn to respect your strength. You have such a lovely figure, it should not be hidden!”

“Oh… Well… Thank you?” Salshira managed. “I mean, I do like the color. And the silk.” It truly was a lovely color, a vibrant green like maple leaves in the summer that blended into fall down the skirt unevenly. It looked sort of wild, like nature, and she liked that. She was also grateful that it wasn’t showing off anything but her muscles, and her chest was fully covered, though it hugged her form so closely that she’d been told not to wear anything beneath it. That concept made her uncomfortable, but she reminded herself that it was only for a few hours and she could just murder anyone who decided to be an ass about it. It flared out around her legs, thankfully, but her waist and hips were shown off quite well. She felt a bit naked, all things considered.

“I still wish you’d wear the shoes,” the tailor muttered again. “They do so much for your posture.”

“I don’t wear shoes, I will never wear shoes, and you can’t make me wear shoes,” Salshira growled, scowling, as she took the dress off so the final adjustments could be stitched. Despite her complaints, the design of the dress was quite simple and elegant, which was necessary given the time frame, and she would love it on someone else. On her, it felt odd and foreign, something she never would have been able to pull off before ending up in the body of a fit and athletic elf. That idea probably added to her discomfort, overall.

She redressed and returned to the main area of the shop to wait with Cassandra, the only one who had volunteered to come with her. The warrior attempted to pretend she hadn’t been drooling over the fancy fabrics when Salshira reappeared, and the awkwardness of her attempt at seeming like a badass was enough to slightly lighten Salshira’s mood.

“They need to adjust the hem because I refused the heels, but they said it wouldn’t take long,” Salshira told Cassandra as she took a seat. She couldn’t help but smile a little as Cass attempted to discreetly lust over all the pretty things as they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd sort of hoped to get both recruitment missions into this chapter, but it was getting too long so I just posted it.
> 
> Sera is fun!


	14. Chapter 14

Riding in a rented carriage while wearing a fancy dress with absolutely no backup and a single dagger strapped to her calf for a weapon on her way to her first Orlesian party was not exactly Salshira’s idea of a good time. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that she was going alone, but the invitation was only for her and no one wanted to insult the First Enchanter by crashing her party.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Salshira whined as Solas, of all people, applied a very small amount of makeup to her face. “If she wants to ally with us what will she care? And if she doesn’t, I could use the backup.”

“Orlesians are touchy,” Blackwall grumbled, almost as upset about the whole situation as she was. “She might rescind her alliance if we insult her.”

“Better not to risk it,” Cassandra agreed.

“You will do just fine,” Solas told her with a gentle smile. He’d been listening to the whole thing with poorly hidden amusement and he was not her favorite person at the moment.

“I’m going into a den of snakes with a toothpick to defend me,” she reminded him, glowering.

He chuckled. “Stop scrunching your face, we are not finished.” He was distracted for a moment by carefully painting a subtle silver line around each eye, winging it just a little, then as he picked up a red paste for her lips he said, “You are hardly helpless, Salshira. You are very good with that dagger, and should all else fail I know that you can handle yourself.” He gave her a knowing look as he dabbed the paste on with his fingertip and she had to concede the point. She was getting pretty good with a few defensive spells, though she had yet to test her abilities under fire except for that one panicked bolt of fire. She was grateful that the others had been far enough behind her that they hadn’t actually seen it so her secret was still safe. She wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t told anyone but Solas that she was a mage, except that she was all too familiar with how mages were treated and didn’t want that for herself. It would come out eventually, but she hoped it would be on her own terms.

Solas finally finished applying her makeup after tilting her face this way and that to check his work, and sat back with a satisfied nod. Curiously, Salshira peered into the small mirror on the vanity and blinked with surprise. Though the makeup was subtle, just a little blush, eye shadow, eye liner, and lipstick, all in shades close to her own skin, the difference was almost striking. Her eyes seemed to pop, their natural gleam accentuated by the silver, which also matched all the rings in her piercings. Her cheekbones seemed sharper, more refined, and her lips looked positively kissable.

“Damn, Solas, you could make good money doing this,” she told him, reaching up to touch her skin.

He caught her hand before she could. “Please refrain from destroying my work, if possible,” he told her, but he was smiling as he helped her tie her mask into place. It was an artful thing, made of silver wires twisted together. In style, it was sort of like a pair of glasses without lenses, but far more artful. She sort of liked it, if she was being honest with herself. Which she definitely wasn’t.

She was bundled into the carriage outside the inn and sent to the Ghislain estate. She spent the whole ride wringing her hands and trying not to chew on her lips. The party, according to the game, would last for about thirty seconds, but she somehow doubted that would carry over.  _ Fuck, what if someone asks me to dance? I am so not prepared for this! _ She only hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself too badly.

The trip was fairly long by carriage since all the fancy estates were outside the city and rather sprawling, and by the time she arrived she thought she might burn down the bumpy, cramped, stuffy carriage. Instead she managed to descend with a modicum of grace from inside the wooden hell basket, helped by a manservant of the Ghislain estate. From there, she joined the flow of foot traffic into the estate, lingering at the back of the crowd.

The house itself was huge, three stories tall and sprawling until it was swallowed up by the landscaping. Though she couldn’t discern all the colors in the dim light, the sun almost disappeared beneath the horizon, she could tell there was plenty of gilt all over. Probably gold, knowing Orlesians, but the dark leeched all the color from the place. She’d noticed that her night vision was exquisite in Thedas, better than her daytime vision back on Earth, but she was essentially colorblind once the sun went down. She didn’t mind, thought it was well worth the trade off.

It was easy enough to follow the crowd into the chateau and find the open ballroom. As she entered, the herald clacked his staff against a disk set into the floor for that purpose and announced her as “Lady Salshira of the Inquisition, Herald of Andraste” and she had to fight not to show her distaste. Every head in the place swiveled in her direction almost at once, though most of them tried to pretend that they weren’t openly staring. Despite her cold and sweating palms, Salshira held her head high as she entered. An elven servant with a tray of glasses approached her and bowed as she offered her goods. Salshira chose one that looked like champagne and smiled at the girl.

“Thank you,” she murmured so that only the servant might hear, and the poor girl jumped so bad she almost dropped her tray before scurrying away with very pink cheeks and ears. Salshira sipped at her glass and began to wander the ballroom, wondering all the while when the confrontation would take place.

She didn’t have to wait long, as it turned out. She was approached by a couple as she skirted the dance floor, watching and feeling out of place.

“A pleasure, my lady,” the lord said. “It is so refreshing to see a new face at these parties. So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“Are you here for business?” the woman asked, peering rather intently from behind her mask. “We have heard the most curious tales of you! I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

Salshira tried for a polite smile and took a sip from her glass for courage, letting the bubbles linger on her tongue. “There have been rumors flying about, haven’t there?” she offered. “Sometimes people get a little carried away.”

“But only for the best effect!” the woman tittered. “The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales.”

She counted the beats until she heard it, still smiling politely at the other guests. And then, “The Inquisition,” was sneered from just above them on the staircase. “What a load of pig shit!” Salshira turned to the man, polite smile still firmly in place, and watched him approach. She had noticed as she wandered that a number of the men and even some of the women wore decorative sabers at their waists, and he was one of them. “Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers,” he continued as Salshira merely sipped from her glass and watched him. She was fairly certain he was slurring a bit and figured he was probably drunk. “No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

Salshira gave him a gentle smile, as though he were a child complaining about sweets. “The Inquisition is working to restore peace to Thedas,” she said calmly. It was a lot easier to endure his vitriol when she knew that he was both toothless and doomed.

“Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army,” the man sneered.

“And how far have  _ you _ gotten in restoring peace with wine and shopping?” she asked sweetly. “Oh, please do tell me all about your accomplishments.”

He snarled at her as she took another sip, titters and even laughter sounding around them, and it was a very ugly expression. She saw the violence in his eyes, the need to hurt her, and she would have been freaking out without the gift of prior knowledge. “We know what your ‘Inquisition’ truly is,” he spat. “If you were a woman of honor, you’d step outside and answer these charges.” Despite his words about stepping outside, he reached for his sword immediately. He managed to get it halfway out of its sheath before a sudden burst of mana froze him in place. Salshira’s gaze, like all the others who stood near her, followed the path the magic left in the air to the source.

Vivienne was even more regal with all the realistic rendering of reality. She exuded confidence in a way her pixelated form could never quite capture, her bearing straight and proud. What features could be seen behind her mask were strong and regal, and her dark skin was accented by a bit of gold dust on her cheeks. Salshira was in awe of her, as any sane person would be.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in  _ my _ house to  _ my _ guests,” she said as she descended the staircase towards them. She seemed to own the very ground she walked on, as though all of it was so far beneath her notice that it didn’t exist. She walked around him to take his chin in her hand. “You know such rudeness is… intolerable.” Salshira noticed that at the edges of the disdain and disappointment in Vivienne’s voice were hints that she was enjoying herself. She sipped from her glass again to hide her smile.

“Madame Vivienne!” the Marquis all but squeaked. “I humbly beg your pardon.” Salshira had to try not to snort. There was nothing even remotely humble about the man frozen with his sword half drawn.

“You should,” Vivienne snapped. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” That regal head with its two-pointed hat turned to Salshira. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Salshira looked him up and down and sipped her glass again as she thought about how to word her answer. “The marquis doesn’t interest me in the slightest. Do as you wish, my lady.”

Vivienne snapped her fingers and the spell broke, leaving the marquis coughing and shivering. “Poor marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord. And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney?” Vivienne put a fist on her hip as she leaned her weight on one leg, regarding the marquis as though he were a bug crawling across her freshly polished floor. “To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning… and you’re still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think that her blade would end the shame of your failure?” The marquis didn’t respond, but he didn’t meet her eyes, either. “Run along, dear,” Vivienne told him, turning her back and dismissing him from her notice. “And do give my regards to your aunt.”

Salshira watched the marquis all but scurry from the party, trying to remember what she’d read about what the boy had done that had made Vivienne set him up for social ruin so spectacularly. She couldn’t quite call on the memory, sadly, but she knew he deserved it after seeing his eyes as he threatened her.

Her attention was captured again by Vivienne approaching. “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” she said, sounding quite sincere. “I’ve so wanted to meet you.” She held out her arm to Salshira, who hesitated for just a moment before taking it carefully, hoping she was doing it right. Vivienne adjusted the placement of her hand subtly by pressing her own hand over top as they walked back up the stairs together and over to a shadowed and mostly private corner. The window they stopped in front of was open to the night air and Salshira couldn’t help but go up to it and take a deep breath of fresh air once Vivienne dropped her arm.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Vivienne began, and Salshira turned to her. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Salshira offered a shallow bow. “Charmed, Lady Vivienne,” she managed.

Vivienne smiled at her. “Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries. I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. But the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos.”

Salshira looked away slightly. “I claim no connection to their god or their religion, but I want to help them,” she confessed. “I  _ will _ help them. All of them.”

“And that is why so many have already pledged themselves to your cause,” Vivienne said, approval on her face. “You possess a certain humbleness that is respected, yet you clearly show this drive to change things for the better. It’s rather intoxicating.” Salshira blinked at her, surprised, but she continued without a pause. “As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

“What do you offer to the Inquisition?” Salshira asked, because she suspected it might be rude not to give Vivienne the chance to show her resume.

“I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally,” Vivienne told her, pride flashing. “I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal. And I’m a mage of no small talent. Will that do?”

Salshira smiled at her. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne,” she said, attempting a shallow bow. “And I would be grateful for your council on the politics of Orlais.”

“Great things are beginning, my dear,” she said, smiling. “I can promise you that.”

As expected, the cutscene didn’t just end right there and let her leave. There were hours left in the party and it would have been incredibly rude, apparently, for her to bow out this early. Fortunately, Vivienne had ideas for some political posturing that would also shield Salshira from the worst of the crowd.

“If we spend the party together, by morning all of Orlais will know that you have the support of the loyal mages,” she explained as they strolled the ballroom arm in arm. “With any luck, this will encourage a few recruits.”

On Vivienne’s arm, it was much easier to endure the press of people and the rigid social expectations. When people spoke to them, they addressed Vivienne first, and she did most of the talking. Salshira sipped carefully on no more than two glasses of champagne - or Thedas equivalent, whatever it was called - and enjoyed numerous treats that wandering servants presented on trays. She thanked each servant who offered her something, even if nothing on the tray interested her, and before an hour had passed she realized that the servants were intentionally making their way to her one at a time to offer their trays, and each one lit up when she thanked them. It hurt her heart, especially once she began to watch the way other guests treated them. Most acted as though the trays were floating around by themselves without a person attached, but a few spat slurs at the tiniest provocation. She’d managed to relax a little into the party, but once she noticed that she tensed right back up.

The biggest test of her ability to keep cool came a few hours later, when she was thoroughly overwhelmed and desperately craving a soft bed. She’d never been a very social person, had always been the one to sit in corners at parties if she went at all, and she was even worse at it now that she was quite literally out of her element. A handsome lord of some variety with a name that went in one ear and out the other approached, chatted for a few minutes, and then asked the question she’d been dreading, which Vivienne’s presence had thus far protected her from.

“My dear Lady Salshira,” he said, bowing with a flourish and then offering his hand. “Might I request the honor of this dance?”

She stared at him with wide eyes for half a beat, then gave him a smooth smile. “I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly. I’ve been sipping this absolutely divine wine all night and I fear for my balance. It would be just awful if I were to step on your toes by mistake!” He retracted his hand and stood with a smile.

“Ah, how unfortunate,” he mused, but he didn’t sound insulted. “Might I request, then, that I could steal you from your escort for a turn about the room?”  _ Well, fuck. Can’t exactly refuse that gracefully, can I? _

She turned her gaze to Vivienne, who extracted her arm and offered Salshira’s hand to him. “I’d be delighted,” she told him as she was more or less guided into taking his arm.

They walked only a few paces before he extracted his arm to place his hand on the small of her back, bared by the dress, and steer her toward a servant with a freshly loaded tray of the tiny little pastries she kept munching on all night. She had to struggle not to squirm under his touch as she took a little pastry with a cut strawberry on top and thanked the servant, who gazed at her with very wide eyes before bowing and wandering off.

“I have noticed how the servants all seem to offer their trays to you first,” her companion mentioned as she popped the pastry into her mouth, trying not to smear her lipstick. “Now I see why. Truly, you are a different stock from those same faces I see at every party.”

Chewing gave her an excuse to think over her answer carefully as he put his hand on her back once more and they walked some more. “In many ways, I am a servant like them,” she said once she’d thoroughly chewed over both her food and her words. “I serve all the peoples of Thedas, working to restore peace and end the threat of the Breach and the rifts for their benefit. So I feel a sort of kinship for these servants beyond the features we share.”

“An eloquent response,” he observed as his hand moved up her back and smoothed across her shoulders. Warning bells were starting to go off, but she wasn’t sure how to extract herself from the situation. “It is a delight to get to know you, my lady.”

They made small talk for a while as they walked, and he asked her what she thought about the party and the people and the decor of the room. When he steered her up the stairs instead of returning her to Vivienne, who was now chatting with an older man who leaned a little too heavily on a decorative cane, her stomach started to churn with nerves.

He stopped at last at a semi-secluded spot overlooking the dance floor, but his hand remained on her bare back. “You are a fascinating woman, Salshira,” he purred, and somehow the use of her name felt far too intimate. “Our walk has been far too short, and this party does not afford nearly enough time to satisfy my curiosity about you. It would be a tragedy to cut our time short, don’t you think?” His hand on her back snaked around her waist to pull her against him, put she planted a hand against his chest to stop it.

“The Inquisition would be glad of your support and your presence, my lord, should you choose to give it,” she told him, trying to guide him away from being quite so personal.

He didn’t release her, and even went so far as to use his other hand to tilt her chin up as though he would kiss her, smiling indulgently as though her protests were cute, and she had enough. A quick burst of mana and she sent an electric current through his body. She had to struggle not to actually taze him and lay him out on the floor, but she managed to shock him just enough that he reflexively let her go. She took a few steps back before she addressed him again.

“You are too familiar with someone you’ve only just met, my lord,” she informed him tightly. “I suggest that you practice your manners before you pay a visit to the Inquisition.”

“Knife eared bitch!” he hissed, clutching the hand that had been on her back all damn night.

“As I said, manners,” she managed, before retreating rather quickly back to the main floor of the ballroom with clammy hands and a pounding heart.  _ I guess  _ ‘nice guys’ _ exist no matter where you go, _ she thought as she struggled to find her composure, making a beeline for Vivienne and her companion.

“Ah, there you are, my dear!” Vivienne said as she rejoined her. She did a slight double take, then narrowed her eyes. She observed the stiffness in Salshira’s shoulders and the way she kept wiping her palms against the soft material of her dress, then unerringly found her former companion still on the balcony recovering from the static charge. “Hm,” she murmured softly, and Salshira could see the gears turning to figure out a way to ruin him. That thought made her smile a little easier, a little more sincere.

“The ballroom is quite lovely, Lady Vivienne,” Salshira said to break the tension. It worked, but she could see Vivienne tucking away her schemes for later.

“Ah, thank you, my dear. But this time I’m afraid it is actually my dear Duke Bastien who should receive the compliment,” she said, gesturing to her companion. Salshira blinked at him, a bit surprised to see him. He leaned pretty heavily on his cane and she could see signs of failing health in his pallor and the way his skin didn’t quite seem to fit right anymore, but his eyes twinkled and his smile was kind.

“I merely suggested the tapestries,” he said, his voice soft and rasping but warm. “As usual, my darling Vivienne has outdone herself.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Salshira said, hesitating slightly when she couldn’t remember how to address a duke.  _ It’s ‘your grace,’ right? Or, wait… Shit! _ She decided to just not if she could help it, unless someone offered the correct term to her.

He offered a hand to her, and when she took it he kissed the backs of her fingers. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Salshira,” he said with a smile.  _ Oh, I like him. What’s a genuinely warm guy like this doing in this cesspool? _

She managed to pass the rest of the evening with Vivienne and Bastien, chatting and even joking. Bastien made her laugh more than once, and she liked to see the way Vivienne’s eyes softened whenever she looked at him. Even knowing what was likely to happen later on, it was good to see them so happy together.

As soon as it was socially acceptable to do so, Vivienne guided her through the process of leaving the party. It was truly a process, which surprised her somewhat. She had to bid farewell in the correct way to the duke and several other guests of importance. Vivienne whispered in her ear that the man who had escorted her around the room was technically among those she was supposed to talk to, but they were leaving him out on purpose and quite noticeably. She couldn’t quite hide her smirk at that.

At last they stood outside the ballroom as the rented carriage rattled up and Vivienne squeezed her hands.

“You did quite well this evening,” she commented. “It was your first soiree, was it not?”

“Yes,” Salshira admitted. “I’m not particularly good with crowds, so thank you for your assistance.”

Vivienne smiled. “As allies, it would be quite remiss of me to allow you to attempt to fumble your way through unfamiliar territory,” she said, but her tone was warm. “I have a few things to do here, but I will join you at Haven shortly, my dear.”

“Thank you, Lady Vivienne,” Salshira said. With a little help she got back into her carriage and almost fell asleep on the way back to the inn despite the rattling and bumps, grateful the night was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm deathly ill! So I'm sorry if this isn't quite as good as previous chapters. >.<


	15. Chapter 15

The trip back to Haven was the most uneventful one yet. What rifts could be found from the road had been taken care of on their way to Val Royeaux, so for the first time they merely traveled in a straight line.  _ How novel, traveling on a road from one place to another without constant distraction. _ She was still tired and overwhelmed from the party, had gotten her fill of social interaction for the year, and her companions mostly left her alone. Even Solas gently told her to get her rest when she asked him about her lessons, though he relented when she reminded him that the  _ aju’elvyral’dun _ would help her relax, but she did skip her magic lessons for a few days.

Before they’d left Val Royeaux, she’d managed to develop a rapport with a baker who supported the Inquisition. She’d bought quite a few sweets from him because Orlesian pastries really were worth the hype, and it was a delight to see the way Solas savored the flavors as they carefully ate only a pastry a night after dinner as they traveled. Even so, the pastries only lasted a few days before they were all consumed, and all of them agreed that they needed to get more the next time they were in the city.  _ I could get addicted to these fuckers, _ Salshira thought as she ate the last cream-filled puff pastry of wonder. She loved the pastries because they were lighter and often not quite as tooth-achingly sweet, but she completely understood why Solas adored the frilly cakes.

“What flavor is that?” she asked as he closed his eyes to savor the sugary scent before he took a bite. It was covered in white and brown streaked frosting with a chocolate covered strawberry on top and it looked positively sinful.

“Chocolate strawberries and cream,” he translated from the little sticker on the wrapper, and her brows went up.

“Shit,” she murmured, trying not to covet his treat. He smiled, no doubt seeing through her, and pulled the strawberry off the top to offer it to her. “No, that one’s yours. I’ve got mine.”

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, smiling a little. She gave him a look, then did as he asked. He put the strawberry in her mouth and she bit down, laughing a little as the chocolate fractured and she had to catch a few pieces. Juice from the fruit, sweet even though it wasn’t in season, dripped down her lip. Solas caught it before she could, wiping her lip with his thumb. Heat crept into his gaze as he touched her, smile fading into something much more intense that sent a bolt of fire to her core. Then Blackwall coughed and they both jerked back, reminded that they weren’t alone.

“Thank you,” she told him, smiling and feeling weirdly shy.  _ Don’t fall for him, _ she reminded herself, but she was starting to suspect that she wouldn’t get a choice.

 

* * *

When Salshira arrived in Haven she greeted Sera, who had arrived a few days before them, then went to get some rest. When she woke she felt a familiar ache in her belly and realized with a start that she was late, probably because of all the stress, and from the way the cramps were building it was going to be a bad one as a result.

There was already some pink when she used the toilet that morning, but she had honestly no idea what to do about it. She couldn’t just drop by the nearest CVS for some tampons and pads, after all. After a few minutes of deliberation, she went to find Josephine once she was dressed.

“Ah, Salshira!” Josephine greeted with a smile as she entered her office. “You’ll be pleased to know that we have quite a few new Templar recruits after your speech in Val Royeaux. I was going to send a runner to tell you that we need to meet to discuss what happened, preferably this morning. And I know that you were going to go to the Storm Coast to see the Bull’s Chargers and to close rifts there. That’ll work out well since we still need to gather -”

“Slow down, Josie!” Salshira cried, holding up her hands in surrender and trying not to laugh. “I know there’s a lot to do, but I have a slightly more pressing matter to take care of. I’m bleeding and I don’t have anything to catch it.”

“You’re bleeding?” Josephine asked, looking confused as she attempted to switch gears from business to personal. The moment it clicked could be seen in her eyes, and it was really adorable to see her vague confusion snap into comprehension as she traded thought for action and bustled about the room. “Oh, your cycle started? Here, you can have these. I haven’t used them, they’re new. I’ll have some more made for you, as well as warded and sealed bags to keep them in for when you’re on the road and can’t wash them daily. If you’re leaving for the Coast at dawn tomorrow, they’ll be ready before you leave.” Josephine handed her a discreet little bag and inside were thick cloth pads that seemed to be made of cotton and were shaped to fit quite nicely. They’d feel like diapers because of how thick they were, but she’d adjust.

“Thanks, Josephine! You’re a lifesaver!” Salshira cried, hugging the bag to her chest.

Josephine smiled warmly. “Of course! Go take care of yourself before we meet. And see Apothecary Adan for something for the pain.”

After a stop at the toilets to fit one of the pads into her underwear and stowing the rest in her cabin, she went to find the apothecary near Solas’s cabin. She knocked before entering and found a bald man with a bushy brown beard bent over a mortar and pestle as he mashed what might have been berries into a fragrant paste.

“Are you the apothecary?” Salshira asked as she allowed the door to close behind her.

“Yes, what do you need?” he asked without looking up, sounding a bit impatient.

She took a few more steps inside and gazed around, looking at what he had and recognizing a few things that excited her. “Something for pain? My cycle started and the cramps are nasty,” she told him, struggling to keep her hands to herself instead of exploring his stock.

“Oh, yes,” he said, sounding a little less irritated. He put down his pestle and hunted in a cabinet nearby. He brought out a few vials of liquid and a waterskin. He poured the vials into the skin, then filled it the rest of the way with water and handed it to her. “A sip whenever it gets bad, but no more than that. You’ll make yourself sick if you take more. And remember to shake it before drinking, the herbs tend to settle. And yes, I know it tastes like a mouthful of acid, but I’m an alchemist not a tea maker and this works better than those frilly little fragrant teas.”

She smiled at his brusque attitude. “Can I add some honey to it?” she asked. “For the flavor.” He grunted and gestured at the pot of golden stuff. She drizzled a fair bit into his concoction until she was pretty sure it would taste more like honey than acid, and shook it hard before taking a sip. She still cringed slightly, but it wasn’t that bad anymore, just a little bitter. “Not bad. Honey really helps.” He gave her a look but it didn’t seem like he was upset with her.

She lingered, trying to figure out if she was looking at what she thought she was and also coveting badly a few of his ingredients. Eventually he put down his pestle again and turned to her with his arms crossed. “Was there something else?” he asked, scowling.

“Sorry,” she told him. “It’s just… Is this shae butter?”

His scowl eased a little. “Yes. It’s good for the skin.”

“Yeah, I love it,” she told him, smiling. His posture relaxed. “And beeswax here?” She pointed to the block of yellow wax.

“Yes,” he said, and now he sounded intrigued. She bit her very chapped lip. She’d been missing her lotions for ages and he had the ingredients…

“I don’t mean to intrude on your space, but can I borrow some of this? And a couple jars, and something to melt it in?” she asked hopefully. “I’ll clean up after myself and get Josephine to replace what I use.”

He narrowed his eyes, considering her. “I don’t see any harm in it,” he said at last, and she could have kissed him. He set her up with a very small cauldron suspended over a mage fire on a tabletop nearby, and warned her not to rearrange anything, then let her loose.

A chunk of beeswax, a spoonful of shae butter, and a hefty drizzle of honey first, and she melted them into the cauldron while she went through his collection of essential oils. She couldn’t read all the labels since his handwriting was pretty bad and she still wasn’t good at reading, but she sorted through them by scent until she found some she liked. She’d always preferred a spicy sort of scent rather than traditionally feminine florals, and the mixture she made smelled like cinnamon and clove with just a bit of sweetness to soften the astringent spices.

Adan came over as she was pouring her concoction into a wide-mouthed jar, then poured her oil mixture in. “That smells nice,” he commented, watching her stir it gently to make sure the oil was incorporated.

“Thanks!” she said cheerfully. “I’ve always liked scents like this.” He wandered off again as she set her jaw aside to allow the mixture to set back up. Her cramps were entirely gone by then, but she was too focused on what she was doing to even realize it.

She didn’t bother to clean out the cauldron as she set it back over her little fire and melted a much bigger chunk of shae butter, then mixed it with a carrier oil to thin it out. She mixed another scent as it melted, a stronger spice than the other one. A bigger jar this time since she’d made more of this mixture, and the same process of mixing the oil in once it was in the jar, and then she was done. She made short work of the clean up, then put away everything she’d used where she’d found it.

“Thanks!” she told Adan, smiling brightly at him. “Do you mind if I leave these here to cool? I’ll come get them before I leave at dawn tomorrow, and hopefully they’ll be at least halfway set up. Though it is pretty cold, so that should help.”

“It’s fine,” he told her, inspecting both her work and her work area. “What did you make?”

“Something to keep my lips from cracking and something to keep my skin soft,” she told him, pointing to them in turn. He nodded his approval.

“Simple recipes, easy,” he observed. “I like it.” She grinned at him, sensing that his approval was hard to earn. “You can use my workshop whenever you like, Herald.”

“Thanks!” she cried, and he cracked a smile. She waved jauntily as she left to gather her advisors and talk about the main questline.

 

* * *

It turned out there was quite a lot to say. They went over everything that had happened in Val Royeaux from the confrontation in the square to recruiting Sera to Vivienne’s party. Josephine took her fancy dress to have it cleaned and stored properly, and Salshira told her she could keep it.

“The new Templar recruits report that the location of their new base was not disclosed to them,” Leliana reported once they were all up to speed on what Salshira had been doing. “They were marching east and south, but that’s all they knew. They peeled off from the main group a few at a time to head here, but they don’t know where they were going. It is quite confusing. Why wouldn’t the Lord Seeker tell his people where they were marching to with such haste?”

“The Lord Seeker has changed quite a bit,” Cassandra said, glowering at the map. “I thought I knew him, but… something is off. He was acting very strangely. I don’t know him anymore, if I ever did. I cannot guess what his intentions might be.”

“My scouts will see what they can find, if they can trail the Templars to their destination,” Leliana decided. “But it may be more worth our time to seek out the mages for this.”

“I still disagree,” Cullen said. “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so -”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interjected.

“ _ I _ was a Templar,” Cullen reminded her with a glare. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“I don’t want to choose a side,” Salshira told them. “Why should it be one or the other?”

“Because they are on opposite sides of a war,” Josephine said.

Salshira shook her head. “We’re trying to  _ end _ that war. Peacefully. I’m aware that neither group will fully trust each other, at least not at first, but we have mages and Templars here right now.”

“And they are at each other’s throats,” Cullen told her, sounding tired. “I’ve had to break up numerous arguments, a few brawls, and put out far too many fires. Tension is high and both groups blame the other for the Divine’s death, simply because the truth is still unknown.”

“They will rally,” Salshira assured him. “We all have a common enemy, we just don’t have a face for him yet. We will, I’m quite sure about that. In the meantime, what have they been doing around here? Do they have work? Have them work together to fortify Haven. We have enemies, Cullen, more than we know. If they could set their differences aside long enough to add protections to this place, it might teach them not to be so antagonistic to each other.

“Haven has defenses,” Cullen began, but she cut him off.

“Physical ones, yes. Your trebuchets are lovely. But if we have wards and other protections? Maybe we could fight off an army.”

“Are you expecting one?” Cassandra asked, but Salshira just smiled grimly.

“What’s the harm in being prepared?” Leliana asked, and Salshira nodded. “It is a sound suggestion.” Cullen nodded, giving in.

“Anyway, I want you all to think of how I might be able to convince both groups to join,” Salshira told them. “I’m not exactly versed in politics and I have no personal ties to either group, so I haven’t been able to come up with anything. When Lady Vivienne arrives, her advice regarding the mages might be invaluable. She knows them well, and she might have ideas we can use.”

“You’re still going to have to go one of them first,” Cassandra reminded her, and she sighed.

“I know. I’m hoping we can maybe send diplomats to the other?” she asked hopefully, looking at Josephine. “Maybe set something up to smooth the way for my arrival?”

“I will see what I can do,” Josephine promised. Salshira nodded.

The meeting broke up quickly after that, just a few more matters to discuss before they were done. Salshira spent the afternoon getting to know Sera and enjoying the elven girl’s blunt way of looking at the world and of talking. It was a good way to relax, all things considered, and Sera agreed to join the trip to the Storm Coast. It would likely be an interesting one.

 

* * *

The trip itself was mostly uneventful. There were a few rifts to close on the road, and Sera expressed her disgust at the whole affair quite loudly. She really did not enjoy her first up close look at a rift, and no one could blame her for that.

Salshira had brought Blackwall, Solas, and Cassandra in addition to Sera. Varric had chosen to stay behind, saying he had some business he needed to take care of, though everyone suspected he just didn’t want to go the wet and chilly Storm Coast. They were accompanied by a moderately sized group of Inquisition soldiers who would establish a presence in the area, just like in the Hinterlands, and it made the journey rather slower. They got there eventually, and Scout Harding was waiting for them with her report.

“Bandits, bandits, everywhere,” she said with a wry smile. “There’s a particularly hostile group that call themselves the Blades of Hessarian. They killed a few of my scouts, and more have gone missing. If you can keep an eye out for them as you go I’d be grateful.”

“I’ll do that,” Salshira promised her. Then she sighed dramatically. “Why can’t we ever meet just for tea?”

Harding laughed a little, then held out a hand to catch the steady downpour. “It’s a little wet for tea parties,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mind something hot to drink, especially in such lovely company.”

Salshira fanned her face and batted her lashes. “Well, that might almost be mistaken for a proposition, Scout Harding,” she flirted, and Harding laughed again.

“You never know,” was all she said, and Salshira grinned at her.

“So, find any rifts?” she asked, getting back to business.

Harding grunted. “A few, yeah, especially on the beach. A few are out over the water, but hopefully you can still reach them without having to go swimming.”

A thought occurred to her at that and she frowned as she asked, “What if there are rifts in the middle of the ocean? How are we supposed to find and close those?”

Harding shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about that,” she groaned. “Like searching for a handful of needles in an almost endless haystack.”

“Yeah,” Salshira agreed, still frowning. Then she shook herself. “We’ll figure it out later, if the time comes. Or we might just have to miss a few.” She shrugged.

“There are fewer and fewer the further we get from the Breach,” Harding offered. “We’ve gotten only a handful of reports from the Free Marches, and if Tevinter has any they haven’t said.”

“Tevinter might like them,” Salshira offered wryly, and Harding laughed again.

“True, and isn’t that a terrifying thought? Anyway, if there are any over the water they probably aren’t very far out. We should be able to find them, eventually.”

After restocking on some basic supplies, Salshira’s group headed out to the place the Bull’s Chargers had reported they’d be that day. It didn’t take long to track them down, and Salshira was surprised to actually come upon them in the middle of a battle with a group of bandits.

Iron Bull himself was easy to spot as the only Qunari in the group, and he was fascinating. She couldn’t wait to get a closer look, since she hadn’t actually seen a real Qunari yet. 

She held her group back from the fight for a few minutes to evaluate the Chargers, then jumped in when Cassandra nodded her approval of their skill. Arrows flew from two bows, spells were cast, and two warriors charged in, yelling challenges. The bandits went down quickly after that, and Salshira approached the group of mercenaries.

“Krem! How’d we do?” Bull called as Krem moved around the battlefield taking stock of their people.

“Five or six wounded, chief,” he called back. “No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Bull whooped, and his people cheered. “Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks.” A louder cheer went up at that, and Salshira smiled as she approached him after nodding a greeting to Krem.

He turned to her and his single eye traveled up and down her, taking in every detail. She did much the same, but there was a lot more of him to take in than there was of her. He was huge, and the difference felt bigger because she was actually standing in front of him rather than looking at a screen. He was a solid foot and a half taller than her, with another six inches in his horns, and more than twice as wide. She couldn’t help staring a little at his muscles, bared by a lack of shirt and gleaming in the rain, but she managed to tear her gaze away. His eye patch was rather ornate, decorative, and she liked that, thought it said a lot about him. As much as his working eye, which made a good attempt to pierce right through her, at least.

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” he began. “Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.” She smiled as he sat on a log, but stayed standing so she could be at eye level with him, and also because she she was sore from being on her horse in the rain for so long.

“That was a good show,” she complimented. “I hear you’re looking for work.”

“I am! Not before my drink, though,” he told her, and she chuckled. Krem came over then to give his report, and Bull gestured to him. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.” 

“He’s hard to forget,” she said with a smile for Krem. He blushed a little and cleared his throat.

“Good to see you again,” he told her, then turned to Bull. “Throatcutters are done, chief.”

“Already?” Bull asked, sounding surprised. “Have them check again. Don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken,” he said nonchalantly with a shrug. “At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” He smiled as he left them to it.

Bull smiled indulgently after him for a moment before turning back to her. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us,” he told her. 

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she admitted, trying not to just recruit him at once so they could get out of the rain for a while. There was a process and he had to feel like he’d proven himself, but being this soaked for this long was making her cranky and impatient.

“They are,” Bull agreed. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons? The bigger the better.” he stood and paced a few steps away, and she couldn’t help but notice that it took them just out of earshot of his men. “And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben Hassrath?”

“They’re a Qunari organization, right? Spies, gathering information?” she offered.

He looked impressed. “Yeah, that’s them. Or, well,  _ us. _ The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also  _ get _ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

She raised a brow at him. “Do you make a habit of telling people you’re a Qunari spy?” she asked.

He chuckled a little, and she liked the sound of it. “Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on  _ your _ side.”

“You could’ve hidden it, though. Let us think you’re exactly what you appear to be,” she reminded him.

“Hide from something called the Inquisition?” he asked, and she smiled. “I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right upfront from me.”

“Fair enough,” she admitted. “What would you send home in your reports?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that would compromise your operations,” he promised. “The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

“And what kind of information will you be sharing from the reports you get?” she asked.

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?” Salshira asked with a smile.

He shrugged. “I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

“Run your reports by Leliana before you send them,” Salshira told him, but she wasn’t worried. “Add in here an appropriately threatening speech about not betraying my interests and all that, just so I can tell Cass I did. Anyway, wanna see a rift up close? I hear there’s a bunch on the beach I need to take care of.”

He laughed, looking a little surprised but pleased. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a smile. Then he turned to his men and called, “Krem! Have the men finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem scowled at him. “What about the casks, chief?” he called back. “We just opened them up! With  _ axes. _ ”

“Find some way to seal them! You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.” He muttered the last, but Salshira snickered as Krem rolled his eyes.

“So, where are we off to?” Bull asked as she waved over her other companions. She had a feeling he’d be even better company than she thought, and she looked forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a fucking roll! It's practically writing itself, I'm just along for the ride.
> 
> So, more little realism details here, and I won't apologize for it. And we're finally almost, almost at the point where Salshira has to make her first big, real choice. Anyone want to place bets on what she'll choose, and if she'll manage to recruit both sides? I'd love to hear opinions!


	16. Chapter 16

Salshira’s period lasted eleven gruesome days, and by the time it finally ended she was ready to sleep for a week. She was also so anemic that her hands shook to the point that she almost couldn’t bring in any game to try to replenish herself, but she managed. She’d been practicing her butchering, though she was still rather clumsy with it, and because the ram was so lean they made the best parts of it into stew. Blackwall and Bull made it together since they were feeding their group of six plus the Chargers, so there was a lot they needed to cook. The Chargers had found some wild root vegetables and Salshira’s own keen elven nose had led her to wild onion, so she knew it would be good. And while it was cooking, Dalish taught her a recipe for a simple flatbread that could be cooked on a smooth stone at the edge of the fire. Between the two of them they managed to make enough for everyone by the time the stew was ready.

It was one of the few clear nights they had on the Coast, and Salshira found it quite fitting that she was finally free of her red river on the day it stopped raining for a while. She ate like a pig, desperately hungry after all the energy she’d expended clearing her damn uterus, and the next morning she spent some time at the river washing her pads. That took her so long that Solas ended up learning more than he probably wanted to know about why she’d been so tired and pale lately when he came to check on her, but he left her to it without a fuss. She muttered to herself as she worked that the stress of her life was going to make her body kill her.

While searching for rifts to close, they found the missing scouts Harding was worried about, dead for days. The Blades of Hessarian had left everything they’d need to challenge their leader, and Bull offered to take care of it. He said it was because Salshira was an archer and wouldn’t do well at close range, but she knew he’d figured out by then that she was far from comfortable with killing. When they found the Blades, he obliterated their leader quickly and turned them to her for leadership.

They found and closed as many rifts as they could, then returned at last to Haven with the Chargers. Salshira found herself almost immediately swept up by her advisors, and they gathered in the War Room.

“New recruits from the Templars arrived with the location of the rest,” Cullen told her as soon as she walked in, still wearing her traveling gear. “They gather at Therinfall Redoubt.”

“We must convince the Lord Seeker to bring the Templars out of exile,” Leliana added.

“That fortress has been vacant for decades,” Cassandra said, frowning. “Why go there?” 

Josephine shook her head, at a loss. “We must approach the Lord Seeker again to get anywhere,” she said. “We can ask him then.”

Salshira leaned against the table wearily. “The Lord Seeker made it clear he isn’t interested in anyone he deems unimportant,” she reminded them.

“So we must change how he sees us,” Leliana declared.

“If it’s status the Lord Seeker seeks,” Josephine mused, “The Inquisition will approach him  _ after _ allying with the noblest houses in Orlais.”

Leliana nodded. “They’ll come with us to Therinfall, and demand the Templars help close the Breach.”

Cullen didn’t seem as convinced. “You believe that will work?” he asked with a frown. 

Cassandra smiled, just a little. “Even the Lord Seeker would find it difficult to ignore so many nobles on his doorstep,” she said.

“Yes,” Leliana added. “Especially when led by the Herald of Andraste.”

Salshira groaned. “We talked about this. I want them  _ both _ , not just the Templars,” she reminded them.

“We know,” Josephine said easily. “These alliances will take time. In the meantime, go to Redcliffe. We will keep it quiet, and hopefully word that you are reaching out to the mages will not reach the Lord Seeker before we wish it to. If your task in Redcliffe takes longer than the alliances, we will send the nobles ahead of you, and hopefully they will help smooth the way for you.”

Salshira thought about it for a while, silently contemplating.  _ Is this the answer? A way to have them both? It might work. But if something goes wrong, I could lose both groups. If either group finds out I’m trying to ally with the other, they might just turn on me. Losing both to Corypheus would be… beyond disastrous. But what other choice is there? _

“Alright,” Salshira said at last. “Let’s try it. I’ll leave for Redcliffe tomorrow. Start gathering alliances.”

 

* * *

A long soak in the baths was just what Salshira needed after spending so much time in the rain. She washed herself thoroughly, then just floated, grateful to have the bath to herself for a while. She’d started to suspect that people avoided using it when they saw her go in, since she somehow ended up with a lot more privacy than she expected almost every time she took a bath, but it wasn’t like she minded. Bathing had never been a communal thing for her before, after all, and she was still getting used to it.

The plan wasn’t a bad one, really, but she hated that nothing was certain. Nothing was ever really certain in her life anymore, and it was starting to grate on her nerves. She didn’t even know if any of this was actually happening, but her stomach was in knots about it anyway. How did that make any sense?  _ I’m treating it as real to keep myself busy, aren’t I? _ she mused as she floated in the hot water. Everything was muffled with her ears underwater, and she was somewhat grateful for the reprieve. It was hard sometimes to hear as well as she did now after spending most of her life partially deaf, though she really enjoyed the improved eyesight.

It was all a mixed bag of good and bad, and that seemed pretty realistic. Part of her was ready to throw off her old life entirely, embrace this new reality she seemed to have. But part of her was certain, so very certain, that she would wake up at any moment, that she would go back to her old life. She’d get out of bed and make herself a cup of coffee, chat with her roommate before they went to work, return to the vastly different daily stresses she’d dealt with before. And a very large part of her hated that idea, hated the stress she’d had before, even preferred the stress she lived with now.  _ There will always be stress, _ she thought,  _ but at least here I don’t have worry about food and shelter. They’d never let their precious Herald starve in the streets. _ It was an oddly comforting thought for someone who knew what it was like to starve in the streets. Her stress in Thedas was an entirely different brand. Was it wrong to have a preference? Was it wrong that she’d rather worry about countless lives and how to save them than about how she was going to pay all her bills? There was no answer to that.

Eventually she had to get out of the bath, but she was all pruny by the time she did. There were still things she had to do before she left in the morning, after all.

 

* * *

_ Salshira’s skin was utterly intoxicating to Solas; he could touch her for years and not be satisfied. The little moans and sighs she released as she breathed deeply were almost as delicious, but her skin truly drove him wild. He tasted her tan lines, savoring her small and pleasured laugh as his tongue snaked out between his lips to drag along that line where golden honey turned to cream. She watched him over her shoulder with brilliant green eyes narrowed in pleasure as he kissed between each string on her back that held her dress together, and he thought he might implode when her teeth sank into her own plush red lower lip.  _

_ He slipped his hands inside her dress to feel the muscles of her sides and back as he closed his teeth gently around the knob of her spine where back met neck, shivering as she moaned. Dark gold hair was pushed over her right shoulder to bare that sweet flesh to him, and his suckling kisses were met with sweet sighs as the fine hairs all over her body stood at attention for him. His cock ached in his trousers, but he ignored it in favor of tracing the line of her jaw with his lips. _

_ Her sensitive pointed ear demanded his attention, twitching toward every sound he made, and he closed his teeth lightly around the tip. His cheek scraped across the sharp stubble on the recently shaved side of her head, and the discomfort only heightened his pleasure. Her skin was so soft, like silk, but that sharpness suited her well. She was all sharpness, until suddenly she was silk and honey, her wit attempting to mask her compassion. _

_ “Solas,” she breathed, a plea, and he couldn’t help but press his erection into her well-muscled ass. Her sharp gasp and the shudder that followed it pleased him as he extracted his hands from her dress. He smoothed over the silk that covered her belly and lower, then began to bunch the fabric in his hands over her thighs, dragging it higher an inch at a time. She leaned back in his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his neck as her breaths began to come faster, and he pressed her even closer as he revealed more and more of her strong legs. _

_ For the first time, she touched him as the hem of her dress passed her knees, reaching one hand back to cradle the back of his neck, to pull him closer to her, to encourage him. Her nails dug into his skin just slightly as he finally, finally, pulled the dress up high enough. The material gathered in one hand, his other freed to find its way to his prize, and she moaned helplessly before he even touched her. _

_ Hot flesh parted by his fingers to find how wet she was from his attentions. One finger inside to collect that delicious cream as she whimpered for him. Dragging his finger up to find her pearl, the touch of something else, something hard and foreign, and then she whispered on a heated breath, “Ar lath ma.” _

He shattered the vision with a gasp.

Laughing with glee, Desire spun around Wisdom, celebrating her victory over his mind. And his friend, damn her, smiled with smug satisfaction.

“Why would you do that?” he asked her, scowling and still fighting his arousal.

“You needed it,” Wisdom told him, allowing Desire to continue to dance around her home.

The spirit glided smoothly over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she purred, “You need it  _ so much _ I can hardly stand it! You desire touch,  _ her _ touch, so very much. I can give it to you.”

“You offer only an illusion, a facsimile,” he said, unmoved by the spirit.

She shrugged as she continued to touch him. “You wouldn’t know the difference, would you?” she taunted. “You’ve never felt the real thing.”

He glared at her until she groaned and gave up. She kissed Wisdom quite passionately, then vanished with a sarcastic wave in his direction. He turned his glare on Wisdom.

“Why did you do that?” he asked again, and this time Wisdom sighed.

“You needed to know,” she said. “You needed to confront the fact that you desire her. And perhaps you desire more than just her body.”

“She is nothing,” he reminded the spirit, though some part of him felt sick to say it. “Merely another pawn in a game she does not see and cannot understand.”

“Is she?” the spirit mused. “I wonder.” He wanted to question her, but she turned her back on him to rearrange her books. She was upset with him, though he wasn’t sure why, and he watched her with a frown as he tried to figure it out.

“We arrive in Redcliffe in the morning,” he told her, but she didn’t respond. “I cannot afford this distraction. There is certainly a trap of some kind waiting for us, and I must remain alert.”

Wisdom spun to him and planted her fists on her hips. “So you are admitting that you find her distracting?” she asked, but it didn’t look as though she’d forgiven him for whatever had offended her in the first place.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again before he finally said, “She is a lovely woman. Anyone with sense would be distracted by such vivid dreams of her.”

Wisdom huffed and turned away again, then waved a hand and ejected him from her realm entirely. He scowled, wondering about her strange mood, but shook his head in confusion. There were times when she was utterly incomprehensible to him, and he simply had to deal with it until she decided to tell him what was wrong, if she ever did.

 

* * *

Frowning, Salshira snapped her fingers in front of Solas’s nose. “Hello, are you alive in there?” she asked as he jumped and waved her away.

“I am fine,” he assured her, though he still seemed rather distracted.

“I need you at your best,” she reminded him. “You know shit’s gonna blow up, right? This is definitely not going to go according to plan.”

Bull, beside them, grunted. “Yeah, and I just hope my axe is big enough when it does,” he growled, scowling.

They were almost to Redcliffe and Salshira was on the lookout for time distortions. They hadn’t seen any yet, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And of course she knew that Alexius had all sorts of nasty things planned for them, besides.

“I understand,” Solas said. “I am ready.”

She watched him for a few more moments, then shrugged and returned to peering through the trees ahead of them. The path had been quite clear, as predicted, and they’d only been attacked twice. Harding and her scouts had gone ahead of them to further clear the way and were likely watching from some hidden area nearby as they got close.

And then one of the scouts came running toward them. “Your Worship, there’s a rift ahead, but something’s strange about it,” the woman reported, breathing heavily. “It’s right up against the gate to Redcliffe.”

“Something strange?” Solas echoed. The scout just shrugged.

“Not sure how to describe it, ser,” she admitted.

“Thank you,” Salshira told her, having a pretty good idea of what was strange. “We’ll take care of it.”

She wasn’t quite sure why she’d expected this rift to be like the game when hardly anything else ever was, but it was still a bit of a shock to come upon it. The rift itself hung in the air, a window into another place, but it rippled, distorted, and the air shimmered nauseatingly. She stepped into one of the distortions because she couldn’t quite see it, heat waves in the air all that gave it away, and suddenly everything else moved so much slower. The demons that milled about shrieking their agony were oddly distorted and her companions movements slowed to a crawl. She wasn’t sure how bad standing in a time distortion was for her, but she shrugged to herself and stayed there as she drew her bow. With the demons moving so much slower than her, she managed to take them all out before the others had gotten more than a shot off. She stepped out of the time distortion then and began to close the rift, but it was so much harder than it should have been. She gasped at the distorted quality of it, had to struggle and fight past it to convince the tear to close, and the agony it felt stretched across the expanse of years. The rift had existed forever and only a moment, and she had to wade through decades to the moment she occupied to stitch it closed. But finally, finally, she managed to close it, and then she leaned against the wall beside the gate to catch her breath.

“Well,  _ that _ was pretty fuckin’ weird,” Bull grumbled as he poked at some demon goo with the blade of his axe.

“‘Something strange’ indeed,” Solas added as he approached Salshira with a frown. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “It was different, distorted. Made it hard to close,” she told him honestly. “I’m fine, just need to catch my breath.”

The gate creaked open a few moments later and a scout came out to speak to them, prompting Salshira to stand up straight again. “My lady Herald,” he said, bowing, and she struggled not to say something snarky. “We’ve set up a meeting at the tavern, but you should know that no one here was expecting you.”

“The Grand Enchanter herself extended the invitation, yet she’s not expecting us?” Salshira asked, though she knew the answer.

“If she was, she hasn’t mentioned it to anyone,” was the reply. Salshira nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, and then headed inside the city.

They were watched from around corners and behind obstructions, but it seemed that no one wanted to greet the visitors. There was apprehension in a lot of faces that didn’t bode well, and Salshira wondered if the magister had already started fucking things up.

The scout led them to the tavern, then veered off as they went inside. Salshira could feel a headache coming on and wondered if the distorted rift had anything to do with it, or if it was stress because she was trying to plan in real time exactly what she was going to say and do to so that she might actually succeed that something.

Fiona was waiting with a few other mages inside and Salshira headed their way. “Welcome, agents on the Inquisition,” Fiona greeted. “What has brought  _ you _ to Redcliffe?”

Salshira raised a brow at her. “I thought I might accept the offer you extended in Val Royeaux,” she said, watching the Grand Enchanter carefully.

Her head tilted curiously. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the conclave,” she said. That odd dead quality of her eyes was nowhere to be seen, and all her reactions seemed genuine, so that made Salshira feel much better that she was actually speaking to Fiona this time.

“Then someone who looked exactly like you in every way and introduced themself with your name and title invited me here to speak with you,” Salshira told her. She still wasn’t sure if Fiona had been controlled or if it was some sort of copy, and part of her suspected she’d never know for sure.

“That sounds very strange,” Fiona said, but not like she didn’t believe it. That was the part that Salshira found strange, that the Grand Enchanter accepted it as truth. “But whoever - or whatever - brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“Why to them?” Salshira asked curiously, while both Solas and Bull tensed behind her.

“We were offered protection,” she said softly, before speaking up. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“I fear you will regret that before all’s said and done,” Salshira told her, and Fiona seemed sorrowful. Again, Salshira had to wonder what Alexius had been doing.

“All hope of peace died with Justinia,” she said. “This… bargain with Tevinter may not have been my first choice, but we had no choice. We are losing this war. I had to save as many of my people as I could.”

The tavern door opened and the background chatter ceased at once. Salshira narrowed her eyes as she turned, knowing what she would see.

Alexius looked much as she expected, a handsome if aging man with an air of forced charisma that made him feel like every creepy customer who had ever complimented her tits like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. His lips were thin to nonexistent as he smiled and his brown eyes were crinkled with false mirth. She wanted to be anywhere else.

“Welcome, my friends!” he greeted as he approached. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

Fiona spoke up then as he moved to stand in front of her. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

“The southern mages are under my command,” he added, his gentle smile contrasting harshly with his words. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down with such intent she felt her skin prickle and had the odd urge to cover herself. “And you are the survivor, yes? The one who stepped out of the Fade? Interesting.”

“Salshira,” said by way of introduction. “I’d like to know more about this alliance you’ve made, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” he said, though his smile gained an edge that she didn’t like. “What do you wish to know?”

“The Grand Enchanter said she was ‘indentured to a magister,’” she said. “Would you elaborate on that?”

“Our southern brethren have no legal status in the Imperium,” he offered. “As they were not born citizens of Tevinter, they must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights. As their protector, I shall oversee their work for the Imperium.”

Wow, that sounded even more like they’d given themselves into slavery when she heard it with her own ears. “I’m not clear on when, exactly, you managed to negotiate this deal with Fiona,” Salshira mentioned. How he’d managed to sneak himself, his son, and whatever entourage had accompanied them past her people would no doubt drive Leliana up the wall for weeks when she found out.

“When the conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced the brutality of the Templars, who rushed to attack them.”  _ Hey, did you practice this in front of a mirror? This sounds like a practiced speech. _ “It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did.”

Fiona glared at him with poorly concealed hatred. “It certainly was… very timely,” she admitted.

“What does the Imperium gain from taking these mages under its wing?” she asked next.

“For the moment,” Alexius admitted, “the southern mages are a considerable expense. After they are properly trained, they will join our legion.”

_ Ha! He admits openly that he’s turning them into an army! Fucker. _ Fiona gasped in horror behind him. “You said not all my people would be military,” she protested. “There are children, those not suited-”

For just a second, the polite mask fell and Salshira found herself gazing at a power hungry bastard with no moral compass as he turned to silence Fiona. “And one day I’m sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium.  _ After _ their debts are paid.”

Salshira narrowed her eyes at him as he resumed his cheerful facade. “I didn’t see any sign of Redcliffe’s arl or his men on my way here,” she observed lightly.

“The arl of Redcliffe left the village,” Alexius said casually.

“I find it odd that a man who would not abandon his lands even during the Blight would walk away from them now,” Salshira said.

Alexius shrugged with a rueful smile. “There were tensions growing,” he admitted. “I did not want an incident.” They stared each other down for a few moments before Salshira managed to smile at him.

“Well, in any event, I came to negotiate for mages to assist me in closing the Breach,” she told him.

“Of course. I am certain we can come to some sort of arrangement.” He gestured to the man who had followed him in, a man with the same jaw and eyes who seemed much too thin for his size with dark circles under his eyes. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?” He turned to her once more. “Pardon my manners. My son, Felix, friends.”

Alexius turned with a gesture to head for a table to settle at, but Salshira was watching the way Felix weaved on his feet. A couple of steps toward her and he suddenly collapsed into her. She caught him and struggled for a moment with the dead weight before he found his feet. In the confusion, he took her hand and pressed what felt like paper into it and and closed her fist around it hard before standing under his own power again.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” he stuttered, giving no sign at all that anything else was happening. “Please, forgive my clumsiness.”

“Felix!” Alexius cried, rushing toward them. “I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time.” He put an arm around his son and led him away without a backwards glance.

Salshira waited until they were gone, Fiona trailing after them like a kicked puppy, before she opened the paper in her hand.

“What’s that?” Bull asked, peering at it.

“Felix gave it to me,” she told him, struggling to make out the words. “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger,” she read, then sighed as she stuffed it into a pocket on her belt. “Well, I think we might enjoy a brief trip to Redcliffe’s Chantry. Say a little prayer for all the mages and whatnot.”

“It might be a trap,” Solas said softly, but she shrugged.

“It might also not be, but I’ve been expecting everything to be a trap,” she told him. Part of her couldn’t help but be excited to meet Dorian, and her smile was genuine as she left the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of smut is driving me Completely Insane, so have some sexual tension on the way to actual tension I guess?


	17. Chapter 17

Part of her thought there might be nothing at all in the Chantry except a couple men waiting for them, but she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Sadly, when they pushed open the doors enough to slip inside, they were confronted by a rift and more of those odd spots of distorted time that looked like heat waves. Salshira swore as she stayed back to string her bow, which for the moment was strapped to her quiver. Solas took up a position just in front of her and put a barrier over her as Bull charged for the demons with a roar.

Solas turned as Salshira finally managed to wrestle her bowstring out of its pouch and waxed paper to attach it to the stave, and she followed his gesture. There he was in all his glory, a man with dark skin and a perfectly cultivated mustache, beating a demon with a mage’s staff. As the demon disintegrated into goo he saluted them cheerfully.

“You’re finally here!” he called, tossing a ball of fire at another demon. “Now, help me close this thing, would you?”

“Aim for where the heart would be,” Salshira called to him as a demon screamed its agony, missing a limb with its head on fire. Bow finally strung, she put the poor thing out of its misery.

Dorian was much more precise after that, and in short order they eliminated enough of the demons to allow Salshira to get in range and begin to close the rifts. Bull kept getting caught in the distortions as he chased down the demons, and she was pretty sure he was rather pale with fright by the time she finally managed to make the connection.

Like the rift outside the city, the distortion made it harder. She closed her eyes to block out distractions and the way the Fade beyond the rift tried to pull her in, searching through what felt like all of time to find the moment in which she existed and tried to close the rift. It was odd, seeing the history of the building as she hunted. The Chant floated in the air around her, sounds of construction as it was being built, further back when there was nothing there at all but forest. She tried to move further ahead, to find herself, and overshot it. A ruined building, burned to the ground with a few oddly mutated animals nosing about in the rubble greeted her before she backpedaled. Finally, finally, she found the right moment and sealed the rift.

She was shaking and breathing hard when the connection finally broke, and her headache was monstrous. She put her hands on her face, then jumped slightly when a cool hand tingling with magic found the back of her neck. She looked and found Solas there, concern in his eyes as he attempted to heal her headache. She gave him a little smile before she turned to Dorian.

He was gazing at the spot where the rift had been, but he finally turned to her. “Fascinating,” he mused, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. “How does that work, exactly.”

She made a face and didn’t know what to tell him. He chuckled. “You don’t even know, do you?” he guessed. “You just wiggle your fingers and boom, rift closes.” She made another face and decided she’d correct him later.

“And you are?” she asked, even though she knew. 

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see,” he mused, sounding far too happy about the whole thing. He gave her a little bow. “Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Watch yourself,” Bull growled, eye narrowed. “The pretty ones are always the worst.” Salshira snorted.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian commented, looking Bull up and down while he crossed his arms and tried to look as imposing as possible. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor,” Dorian continued, shrugging it off. “So my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I was expecting to see Felix,” Salshira told him. Dorian shrugged.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said, unconcerned. “He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“You’re a bit too cheerful about all this,” Salshira observed mildly. “Why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”

“What, I’m not allowed to be friendly and intrigued by your abilities?” he asked, exaggerating his affront. She couldn’t quite suppress a smile, but she didn’t answer. “Fine. Look, you must know there’s danger. That much should be obvious even without the note.”

“Glaringly,” she drawled, and it was his turn to smile.

“Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mages out from under you,” he continued. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“That seems like doing too much, ripping holes in the fabric of reality to win a race that doesn’t exist,” Salshira mused. “But I suppose he wanted to get here just after the Divine died and steal the help I need.”

“You catch on quick,” Dorian said, a twinkle in his eye that said he liked her. “And yes, it does seem like a lot of trouble to go to, doesn’t it? The rift you closed here. I’m sure you saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed,” Bull growled, glowering.

“Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe,” Dorian continued. “The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“I’d like more proof of impossible feats of magic than just ‘Because I said so,’ if you don’t mind,” Salshira told him. Solas’s hand on her neck was keeping her headache under control, but she could still feel it in her periphery, getting worse the longer they talked about time control. The game had no real consequences for this particular mechanic, but she couldn’t expect that to hold true for the version she was living. It was far too likely for her comfort that she would, in fact, have to deal with more awful distorted rifts than these two and the ones when they would be thrown through time later.

“I know what I’m talking about,” Dorian said, scowling. “I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work.” He scowling harder and crossed his arms. “What I can’t understand is why he’s doing it, ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” a new voice added, and Solas’s hand tensed on her neck, the magic shifting to a barrier before he realized it was Felix.  _ Aw, that’s sweet. He’s worried about me. …. Wait… _

“Took you long enough,” Dorian said with a smile. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No,” Felix said with a shake of his head. “But I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He turned then to Salshira as he said, “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori.’ And I can tell you one thing, whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“All this, the holes in time and subjugating the mages, for me?” Salshira asked batting her eyes at him. “And here I didn’t get Alexius anything.”

“Send him a fruit basket,” Dorian suggested with a smile. “Everyone loves those.”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix told her. “But I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“When is anything ever that simple?” Salshira groaned, scowling and clenching her left hand into a fist. “I doubt it’s only that.”

“You know you’re the target,” Dorian said. “Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.” He looked around for a moment, considering. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whatever you’re going to do to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

Everyone left the Chantry after that, and Salshira decided not to discuss anything important in Redcliffe. She waited until they had made it back to the nearest Inquisition camp, then she collapsed with a groan in front of the fire they had set up, head in her hands. The headache had returned full force, pounding in her temples and behind her eyes, and even Solas’s magically chilled hand couldn’t help very much.

“So. Back to Haven, or do we try to do this now?” she asked.

“Going in without backup seems like a good way to get killed,” Bull observed as Inquisition soldiers milled about and whispered about the visitor to their camp. There were only a handful of them around at the moment, a couple working on starting some food, but she could feel the weight of their attention. It only made her headache worse.

“Alexius will likely now extend a more formal invitation to negotiate,” Solas added. “Such a thing will be sent to Haven and require protocol that the Ambassador could verse you in. It will also provide us with enough time to plan and come up with a countermeasure to whatever trap is awaiting us.”

“Okay, good,” Salshira said. “Back to Haven, then.” She didn’t move to get up.

“Rest, first,” Solas told her, and she sighed heavily, then lowered herself sideways until she was in his lap.

“Yeah, okay,” she murmured, eyes closed. Some corner of her mind realized that she was probably making him uncomfortable, but it had so long since she’d actually gotten to touch another person and she was so incredibly desperate for it that she couldn’t bring herself to care.

He let her lay there, his magic cooling her neck and forehead, until the soldiers had a meal prepared. Once they’d eaten, she ended up falling asleep against Iron Bull’s soft and cushiony chest while listening to stories told around the fire.

 

* * *

Back in Haven, with the invitation received and the infiltration plan underway and Dorian sequestered with her advisors, Salshira first tried to pass her time by obsessing over her notebooks. She had already filled three of them and was working on a fourth, writing down everything she could think of that she might need and pouring all her anxieties into a secret place where no one would ever find them. In the privacy of her cabin and the notes that were utter nonsense to everyone else, she was free to let her fears out. She was afraid of time travel, as any sane person would be, afraid of seeing her companions like that, of seeing them die. She was afraid of standing before them and telling them that they needed to cease to exist, that a year of horror and torment would be unwritten. And she was afraid of the consequences of time travel, of the decisions she had to make in Redcliffe.

Josephine was still working on the nobles and getting a big enough show of power to impress the Lord Seeker, so unless she wanted to risk insulting Alexius and ruining her chances with the mages, she had to go to Redcliffe. It was her opinion, anyway, that letting Alexius run free with his time magic was a lot more dangerous than allowing Envy to run around wearing the Lord Seeker’s face. Envy was only a demon, the Templars were only people, no matter who their puppet master was or what the red lyrium could do. But Alexius could destroy the world if he put a little thought into it, and she couldn’t let him.

Her course was set and all that was left to do was worry. And worry she did, her stomach in knots and her hand cramping from writing. Her friends sometimes forced her out of her cabin, reminding her that she was doing everything she could. They always gave her curious looks, as though wondering why she was stressing so much over what should have been a fairly simple operation as far as they knew. March in, distract Alexius by pretending to negotiate, take over the castle, win the day. But they didn’t know that she was going to deal with so much more than that. So when she was at last forced into the sun, she spent her time trying to make her mind go blank. She exercised and practiced her archery, worked to hone her body into a weapon. She practiced  _ aju’elvyral’dun _ until there was nothing else in her mind at all. She spent time in Adan’s cabin learning about Thedosian herbs and making up a few little satchels to keep with her, some herb blends to toss into her tea or in her waterskin to combat the pain of closing rifts or to make her body take in more nutrients more efficiently or to make her sleep deeper and wake faster. She suggested a few additions, like lavender or orange peel in a bitter blend to make it sweeter, and he grunted his approval.

And then, when she still didn’t have enough to keep her occupied as she waited to leave again for Redcliffe, she went in search of sewing needles and thread. She’d been teaching herself to sew before she fell out of the rift at the Temple, but she hadn’t gotten very far. She wanted to be able to make field repairs to her clothing and armor, maybe make her own when she was bored or couldn’t sleep. Haven’s tailors were honored by her presence and taught her some easy stitches that were used for field repair, and how to measure scrap cloth for patches. Harritt showed her how to care for her armor like a professional, how to repair it on the go, even how to make interchangeable linings for warmth or to protect her skin, whatever she might need. She kept it up happily, repairing a few tears in her clothes on her own and packing a little sewing kit into her travel pack.

Finally, finally, it was time to go. She had agonized over the decision of who to bring with her, who she would subject to the fate that she knew awaited them, and in the end she’d had to let practicality rule. Solas, for his magic and his healing abilities, and Iron Bull, who would happily obliterate the Venatori with unmatched ferocity once he was freed. Dorian would enter with Leliana’s spies and scouts to make his grand entrance as the trap was sprung.

As they left, Salshira gave a page of English writing to Leliana and asked her to find out what it said. It was a simple little note that rambled about the weather and the setup of Haven and said nothing terribly important. But the wording grew more and more complex down the page, and Salshira wanted to know if any of it could be translated. How secure were her notes, really? That was the question she wanted answered.

Then she left, traveling with a small group of Inquisition scouts who would join the infiltration team after dropping her off in Redcliffe village. Solas and Bull seemed calm and ready, and she couldn’t quite quash the intense guilt of what she knew she was doing to them. But was it really any better for those she didn’t bring? Poor Leliana would be tortured, and many of the others were sure to die. She would be faced with many horrors and her least favorite variety of rift, all because she had chosen to go to the mages first. This was her first big choice, and it was arguably the hardest to live with in the whole game. She was choosing who she would face, and who might be her enemy. She still had hope that she could make the Templars listen, but if she couldn’t she knew who she would be fighting later. So much was riding on this decision, and she felt the weight of it on her shoulders no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.

 

* * *

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them,” Alexius drawled, sitting on his little throne with his little smirk, thinking he was winning. Salshira had bided as much time as Leliana’s people needed, fussing over refreshments and taking her sweet time looking around and asking questions about the castle that Alexius wouldn’t have bothered to learn the answers to while Felix endlessly indulged her delays and Alexius seemed to get more and more irritated with her. She’d gotten her signal finally, a little flash of magic where only she was likely to see it, and she gritted her teeth as she mentally prepared. “So what shall you offer in return?”

“Cut the shit, Alexius,” Salshira snapped, grateful to be released from the false pleasantries. “Tell me what the Venatori have planned and why everyone seems so interested in me, specifically. I know it’s not because I’m Herald of Whoeverthefuck.” Beside her she heard Bull snort and Solas sigh.

“Excuse me?” Alexius replied, brows raised. Felix gave her a disgruntled look as he turned to his father.

“She knows everything, Father,” he said, sounding a bit sad.

“Felix,” Alexius frowned. “What have you done?”

“Your son is concerned for you, as he should be,” Salshira supplied. “You’re involved in something terrible and it’s going to bite you in the ass sooner rather than later.”

“So speaks the thief!” Alexius snapped, and Salshira rolled her eyes. “You think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark - a gift you don’t even understand - and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.”

And then, because she had been so sickly and stiffly polite this whole time to a man she knew was trying to unwrite her from history, she rolled her eyes and let her tongue off its leash for a moment. “That’s what your mom said when you were born,” she deadpanned, then smiled when Bull guffawed. She glanced at Solas when he made a strangled noise and found mirth rather than distaste.  _ Immature senses of humor all around, _ she thought to herself as Felix tried to decide between offense and laughter.

“I suppose that must be my cue,” Dorian drawled as he sauntered up to them from the side of the room. “Not quite the one I was expecting, but I’ll take it.”

“Dorian,” Alexius murmured dangerously, his attention captured. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this and you turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“What’s better than turning back time?” Salshira asked, crossing her arms and cocking a hip.

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. He will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas,” he sneered.

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried, but Salshira only rolled her eyes again.

“Seems to me that he’s thinking pretty small. Thedas is only one continent on this world, and he’s not even aiming for the whole thing,” she observed. “Pretty small time for a power-mad conqueror.”

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about  _ never _ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” Dorian asked, now ignoring Salshira’s jibes.

The subtle sounds of Venatori dying in the background as everyone was distracted made Salshira’s ears twitch as Felix said, “Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori and let the southern mages fight the Breach. Let’s go home.” 

Alexius grabbed his son’s shoulders tightly. “No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

“Save me?” Felix cried, yanking away.

“There  _ is _ a way,” Alexius continued earnestly. “The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…” He gazed intently at Salshira and she raised her chin.

“I’m going to die, Father,” Felix spat. “You need to accept that.”

“Seize them, Venatori!” Alexius cried, as though he hadn’t heard. “The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

The last of the Venatori who lined the room fell at that moment, gurgling as they died on Inquisition blades. Salshira gave a little bow that Vivienne had been teaching her, sarcasm in every line of her body. “Not today,” she told him.

He took a step back from her, first in surprise and something that might have been fear, but then he leaned toward her with rage in his eyes. “You are a mistake!” he hissed, a hand disappearing into his pocket.  _ Here we go. Can I prevent it? _ “You should never have existed!”

Her bow was unstrung at her side but she had plenty of throwing knives. Hand in the pouch that held them, she threw one with a shaking hand that missed just as the amulet was revealed. Magic sparked and she threw another blade that connected.

“No!” Dorian cried as he flung magic at the same time, her blade piercing Alexius’s hand at the same time that Dorian’s panicked magic threw him off balance. But it was too late, the void in the world opened just before them.

“ _ FUCK!” _ Salshira shrieked as it swallowed her whole, the world disappearing from beneath her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe! Dorian! Super stressed and tired Salshira! It's been a bit since I really got to write and I was so pleased to get a chapter done. I've been about as stressed and tired as my poor Salshira lately and I hope it doesn't show in my writing.


	18. Chapter 18

The fall was short this time, for which she was grateful since the feeling of falling was far too reminiscent of her initial arrival in Thedas for her comfort. She landed in knee high water and fell to her knees with the impact, effectively drenching herself up to the waist, and struggled to breathe past the panic.

“Blood of the Elder One!” a voice cried, metal rattling. “Where did they come from?”

Steel shrieked and magic flared, raising the fine hairs on the back of Salshira’s neck. She couldn’t look up, couldn’t defend herself, could only stare blankly into the filthy water she was partially submerged in and try to convince her lungs to work. No blows landed on her, however, and in only moments the sounds of fighting stopped.

“Salshira?” a familiar voice asked gently. Her mouth worked but she could force no sound out, frozen in irrational terror. A gentle hand followed the gentle voice a few moments later and she gasped sharply as she pulled back, shocked from her frozen state. Looking up at Dorian, who was pale with fright with his hair mussed, it was easier to remind herself to breathe.

“I’ll be fine,” she croaked, and dragged herself to her feet. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Dorian soothed. “But now we have to figure out where we are.”

Salshira nodded and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands for a moment, then shook herself to clear her head. She looked around curiously and was grateful that they hadn’t landed inside a locked cell, which might have been more than she could handle. It was still the dungeon, however, half flooded with grimy water that stank of sulfur and mold, torches set high on the walls to keep them out of the damp. She hauled one of the dead guards, who leaked red into the murky brown water, above the surface to look at him.

“That amulet, the spell,” Salshira began, carefully removing the helmet that hid the man’s face. “What was Alexius trying to do?”

“Hmm,” Dorian mused, poking at some baskets that floated in a corner. “It looked like the talisman that we developed together, and it’s likely what he’s been using to control time. Displacement. Interesting. It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“Does this dungeon look like a confluence of arcane energy?” Salshira asked as she finally managed to get the helmet off. She nearly gagged at what she found. A young man, barely more than a boy, with veins of red just beneath the delicate skin of his too thin face. And around his neck, a spiked collar far too heavy for comfort that did not have any visible means of removal. A slave, corrupted by the red lyrium he had likely spent too long near. There was no time to weep for him, however, but maybe she could save him by undoing this. She patted his pockets until she found his keys, then allowed him to slide gently back into the water.

“Let’s see,” Dorian continued, unaware of her struggle. “If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t… Oh! Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s when!”

“Great, time magic,” Salshira sniped. “Let’s just keep ripping holes in reality, what could go wrong?”

“We’ve seen his temporal rifts before. This time we simply… passed through one,” Dorian mused, seemingly unaffected by her tone. “Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Salshira nodded, gathering her wits. She took a moment to string her bow and dump the water out of her quiver, then ready an arrow. Though damp, they would still shoot just fine, and all her other equipment was unaffected. Cautiously, they slipped out of the room and began to explore.

The first of the other dungeon rooms was empty of anything except corpses and veins of red lyrium growing from them. The singing was all around them, had existed at the edges of hearing ever since they landed, but it got so much louder as they approached. Louder even than it had been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it seemed to pull at them, to call to them with a thousand voices promising knowledge and power. Salshira had to drag Dorian away from touching it, so strong was the call. They turned away and tried another room.

The second room contained more red lyrium, and Dorian tried to turn away again but Salshira caught him. The sound was faint, hard to distinguish beneath the singing of the lyrium, but someone in this room was sobbing quietly. Salshira moved toward the sound, trying not to look at the lyrium at all.

“Fiona?” she asked softly, not entirely sure that was who she was seeing. Torn mage robes like the ones she’d last seen the Grand Enchanter wearing, but singed and bloody, dark hair left to grow and unwashed, and the face that turned towards her voice was familiar. Veins of red spread beneath cracked skin gone pale from failing health, but it was undeniably her.

“You’re… alive?” she managed, her voice cracked and ruined and resonating with the song of the lyrium that turned her eyes red. “How? I saw you… disappear... into the rift.”

“What happened to you?” Salshira couldn’t help asking.

“Red lyrium… It’s a disease,” Fiona ground out. The longer you’re near it… eventually, you become this.” She gestured at the crystals that were growing from her body, bursting through blackened skin. “Then they mine your corpse for more.”

Salshira had to swallow bile. Dorian took over for her while she struggled not to vomit and asked, “Can you tell us the date? It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere… Nine… Forty-two Dragon,” Fiona gasped, leaning heavily against her cell wall.

“Nine forty- _ two? _ ” Dorian repeated. “Then we’ve missed an entire year!”

“We have to go back,” Salshira said, not entirely sure why she bothered to say it.

“Please… stop this from happening!” Fiona begged, and Salshira nodded to her. “Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker! No one… challenges him and lives.”

“I’ll fix it,” Salshira promised. Dorian turned away, but Salshira lingered. “You’re in pain…” she observed softly, cringing at the broken chuckle Fiona voiced. “I’m going back in time to stop this but… Do you want me to end this for you now?”

Fiona surged against the bars of her cell in a sudden burst of energy, a fierce light in her eyes.  _ “Yes,” _ she breathed desperately. Salshira nodded and drew her dagger, steeling herself. Gently, the reached through the bars that Fiona had pressed herself against. With one hand she cradled the woman’s head and pulled her hair out of the way, and with the other she slipped her blade cleanly between the base of her skull of her spine, smiling reassuringly for the mage as the light died from her eyes. Fiona died with a small, relieved smile on her lips.

Carefully, Salshira lowered her body to the floor and extracted her dagger, wiping it on the dead woman’s ruined clothes. She stared at her for a moment, her vision swimming with tears, but there was no regret in her heart for what she had done. This death was a mercy, she knew, and though she mourned it her stomach was settled and she wasn’t reacting to it the way she had reacted to the other lives she had taken before. Maybe it was a sign that she was becoming more accustomed to killing and the necessity of it, but she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

They left Fiona’s body in its cell. There was nothing more than could do for her but make sure she never endured this fate at all. In the next room the singing of lyrium was fainter but it was always present. Most of the cells in this room were unused, though a few corpses lay in a few cells, their bodies already mined. At the back of the room, where the singing was loudest, there was one cell still occupied. The prisoner had his back to them, but she knew him anyway and she raced to the door, fumbling with her stolen keys.

“Solas!” she cried, jamming different keys at the lock until she found one that fit, magic in the door matching magic in the key. Wards fell as the door opened, the mage imprisoned with iron and magic both. He turned to her and she saw him stutter back a step, eyes gone wide.

“You… you’re alive!” he exclaimed. “We saw you die!”

Salshira shook her head, swallowing tears and trying to hide that she was shaking. He looked half dead, lyrium in his veins and tinting his eyes, his voice broken and distorted and overlaid with that same song and the whispers that filled the dungeon.

She couldn’t speak, so Dorian explained it for her. “The spell Alexius used displaced us in time,” he said, his voice a bit rough. “We just got here, so to speak.”

“Can you reverse the process?” Solas asked softly, an edge of desperation in his tone as he stepped hastily out of his cell. “You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late!”

Salshira silently offered him her waterskin and he downed half of it at once. She’d packed extra, had planned for this, though the reality of it was harder even than she’d expected. Seeing Solas brought so low, she was terrified for him. And forced to face how much she truly cared. “You don’t look very good,” she managed. “Is there any way I can help?”

He looked at her, truly looked at her, for the first time. His illness called to her, her connection to the Fade threatening to drown her in his tainted eyes. “I am dying, but no matter,” he said, and a tear escaped to fall down her cheek. She ignored it. “If you can undo this, they can all be saved. But you know nothing of this world. It is  _ far worse _ than you understand. Alexius serves a magister that they call the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene and used the chaos to invade the south. This Elder One commands an army of demons. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”

“I will be,” she vowed, hands clenched into fists. His expression, so hard and unyielding before, softened into something that looked like affection for a moment.

“This world is an abomination,” he told her. “It must never come to pass.”

“Can you fight with us?” Salshira asked as Dorian began to poke around.

“Not as well as before, but well enough to help,” Solas told her as Dorian made a sound of discovery. In the chest at the very back of the room was the armor that Solas had been wearing when she’d last seen him, as well as his staff.

“Huh,” she murmured as Solas began to strap it on. “That’s convenient.”  _ Too convenient? Did they really have nothing better to do with all this gear than leave it in a chest right next to the owner for a year? _

She decided not to follow that line of questioning too far, shaking herself. They left once Solas was ready to check other rooms. Only two were left, and the first was empty. In the second, they heard off key singing that made Salshira smile despite herself.

“Three hundred bottles of beer on the wall,” a deep and raspy though ruined voice sang tiredly. “Three hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around… Ugh…” The song trailed off into irritated and wordless grumbling.

“Bull,” Salshira greeted, finding the key to his cell on the ring with the others and freeing him. He looked much like Solas, red veins under his skin and red tinted eyes, but he was also missing half of one horn and she could only assume he’d fought hard before ending up in a cell, and possibly after.

“You’re not dead,” he observed, drawing back from her with a scowl. “You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground and everything.”

“Alexius didn’t kill us,” Dorian said quickly to get him up to speed. “His spell sent us through time. This is our future.”

Bull glared down at him as he left the cell. “Well, it’s  _ my _ present. And in my  _ past _ I definitely saw you both die,” he growled.

Salshira couldn’t help but give him a smile as she said, “Well, I’m no more dead than you.”

Bull groaned loudly at that. “Now ‘dead’ and ‘not dead’ are up for debate. That’s wonderful,” he complained.

“This conversation has taken a turn for the moronic,” Dorian observed, then grunted when Bull shoved him. “Just come with us! We’re going to fight Alexius.”

Bull walked past them to the chest that held his gear, apparently having known it was there. “Why? You want to see what other tricks he’s learned?”

Dorian glared at him. “If we find him, we might be able to get back to our own time and stop all this before it happens. Exciting, yes?”

Bull look at him, then at Salshira, then at Solas. “You catch them up?” he asked the elven mage. Solas nodded. Bull shrugged. “Kill Alexius. Sounds good. Let’s go.” He hefted his great axe over his shoulder and gestured for them to lead the way.

They wandered somewhat aimlessly until Dorian found a part of the castle he recognized. The paths were abandoned but for the rats that skittered away from them and the distant sound of sobbing prisoners. Over it all was the ever present singing of red lyrium from all around them, making Salshira’s skin itch with its proximity.

Leliana was nowhere to be found in the castle dungeon, and Salshira had to wonder what had become of her. Part of her had been dreading that she might be found, but anxiety filled her when she wasn’t.

They had to pass through a courtyard outside, and the Breach really was everywhere, filling the sky. There were two rifts in the garden, both surrounded by distorted time, but rather than risk Salshira’s health and all of their safety closing them they simply rushed past and slammed the door behind them. Salshira held her head in her hands for a moment, fighting the headache that the Breach had caused. So much of the Fade was leaking into the world, but the transition was destroying both sides of reality. Solas’s hand was gentle on the back of her neck, the cooling magic that he’d used to help before spreading over her skin. She smiled at him sadly, but he watched her from behind an opaque mask and she could not guess his thoughts.

Getting to Alexius was much easier than in the game. There were no hurdles to jump, no fancy door from Tevinter that required five separate keys to open. There were guards to kill, true enough, but the door key was on the leader’s belt and the door opened easily.

Inside, Alexius stood at the far side of the hall, staring down into a fire, with a ghoul shaped like a man crouched beside him. He didn’t react to their approach, though he must have heard them coming.

“It’s over, Alexius,” Salshira called to him, and at last he turned. He looked nearly as bad as her companions did as he looked at her with sorrow. Veins of red beneath his skin, though his eyes were still clear for the moment, he had lost a lot of weight and looked nearly as ghoulish as what once was his son.

“I know,” he said, and his voice held unimaginable sorrow. “I knew that I had not destroyed you, that you would return. Not that it would be now, but I knew you would come for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she told him. “Give us the amulet. Let us go back. We can stop all this from happening.”

“It isn’t real to you,” he whispered as he looked at her. “It’s just a story you’re going to unwrite. But I know what I’ve done. It was real.”

“Of course it’s real,” Salshira told him, the truth of it ringing in her bones. “I killed Fiona, slid my knife through her spine, so that she wouldn’t have to suffer another second of what you did to her. I watched her die in my grasp, and that was real.”

Alexius said nothing, just watched her with his sad eyes. She looked beside him at the ghoul and sighed heavily. “What you’ve done to your son is real, too,” she said, and Dorian jerked beside her.

“Maker’s breath! That’s Felix?” he cried, taking a step forward before stopping himself. “Alexius, what have you done?”

Alexius looked beside him and it almost seemed like he knew that Felix was already gone. “It was the only way to save him,” he insisted, but there was no fire behind it.

“You didn’t save him,” Salshira told him, and Alexius crumpled to his knees.

“I know,” he sobbed, helpless. With a sigh, Salshira approached him, Solas’s barrier tingling on her skin. Dagger in hand, behind her back, she tilted his chin up. “I failed,” he whispered to her, and he didn’t fight as her blade severed his spine. Felix gazed at her with blank eyes, anything that had once been human, intelligent, long gone from him. He didn’t fight her blade any more than Alexius had.

She stepped away as Dorian came forward to search for the amulet, found it around Alexius’s neck like he’d been saving it for them. “He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Dorian mused, his sorrow in his voice. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago. Oh, Alexius…”

“We can still stop him,” Salshira reminded him. “It doesn’t have to end this way.” Some part of her was oddly calm, prepared, waiting for the next step. And part of her was wailing.

“Once he was a man to whom I compared all others,” Dorian confessed, smiling just a little. “Sad, isn’t it?” He looked down at the amulet he held, inspecting it. “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

Salshira nodded. “We’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” she promised him, and went to bar the door. With the help of Solas and Bull, they piled as many heavy things in front of it as they could, including a desk that she stole the papers off of and jammed into her pack, and then there was nothing to do but wait. Bull wandered off to sit by the fire, but Salshira stayed beside Solas. It was an opportunity, she’d realized, to be completely candid with him without repercussion. She hoped to take advantage, but for a long while they merely sat together in silence.

“Solas?” she asked softly, and he raised his head from his knees. “I…” But the words stuck in her throat all the same.

He watched her struggle, and then his mask shattered. All at once he was drawing her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping himself in her. He breathed the scent of her hair and trembled, hands tightening around her. “I lied to myself,” he whispered, fingers buried in her hair. “I told myself that you were nothing, while you were anything but.”

She pulled back to look at him, her tears falling freely now. “I’ve been lying, too,” she told him, and he smiled.

“Then stop,” he urged. She laughed wetly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” she whispered.

“Then tell me now, when it doesn’t matter anyway,” he offered, and she jerked in his arms.

Before she could think better of it, since he’d offered already, she forced the words from her throat.  _ “I know who you are.” _ He frowned, he didn’t understand, so she called him by his title.  _ “Fen’Harel. I know what you’ve done, what you’re going to do.” _

It was his turn to jerk, to nearly pull away before he stopped himself. “How could you know?” he asked in a whisper, barely breathing the words.

“Because I’m not who you think I am, either,” she told him, and it felt so strange to say the words aloud, a weight lifted even as a dagger twisted in her gut. “Would you have killed me for knowing, a year ago?”

He searched her face and she could see him thinking, gears turning in his head. “Possibly,” he said at last, and she looked away.

“Thank you for your honesty,” was all she managed to say, expecting him to withdraw. Instead, he pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair.

“Perhaps you can convince me otherwise,” he whispered into her ear, leaning some of his weight on her. “No matter what lies I told myself, I care for you deeply, and there is potential for even more than that. I wanted you, in more ways than one. If you feel the same… You are changing what happened here, in this past year. Perhaps you can change our future, as well.”

“Will you listen?” she asked, hardly daring to hope.

“If I do not know that you are manipulating me, I might,” he replied, and it sounded like he was hoping for her. “What I was planning… I do not enjoy the prospect, even now. That will make me more amenable to your influence, if you are cautious.”

_ I can change it, _ Salshira thought to herself, eyes wide and hidden from the world in his shoulder as she thought about what it might look like. She could guide Solas to a different path, save him from himself. Maybe she could save a lot more than that.

“Convince me to tell you who I am on my own,” he urged her. “Convince me that you are worth the risk, and overcome my caution.”

She held him tighter as Dorian called out that he had figured out the spell, could send them back. “I will,” she vowed, then released him. Solas and Bull both watched as Dorian began the spell to reopen the rift, and Solas smiled at her as it swallowed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELS!  
> Okay, so I had to do Redcliffe a bit differently for a whole bunch of reasons, but I won't lie that one of them is because I didn't want to spend another two chapters on this shit.  
> ALSO hey holy fuck the last part of the chapter surprised me, too! But it works great, even ties up a potential loose end that hasn't happened yet. (I have this whole freaking thing planned out in my head, it's gonna be great.)


	19. Chapter 19

_ Break the narrative. _ It was Salshira’s new thought as she stepped back in time and glared down her nose at Alexius.  _ Make it the way I want it to be. _ He fell to his knees before her, much as he had moments ago and lifetimes away, and her dagger was still slick with his coagulated blood. She clenched it in her hand but she would not use it. There were other options now, and he didn’t have to die.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian quipped, but Salshira was far from a teasing mood, for once.

“Relinquish all claim to Redcliffe and surrender yourself into Inquisition custody,” she commanded the magister. “You’re finished here.”

“You’ve won,” he admitted, and the sorrow in his voice was only a shadow of what she had heard just an hour before. “There is no point extending this charade.” He looked at his son, and the sorrow grew until it nearly resembled the broken man he could have become. “Felix…”

Felix crouched by his father, a hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s going to be alright, Father,” he said.

“You’ll die,” Alexius nearly sobbed.

The look Felix gave him was old and wiser than his years. “Everyone dies,” he reminded the magister as a soldier of the Inquisition chained his hands behind his back and led him away.

“Well!” Dorian chirped. “I’m glad that’s over with.”

Salshira counted down in her head from three, then nodded when she heard the far door slam open and a double column of soldiers wearing the crest of Ferelden’s monarchy marched into the room with a clamor of plate armor, forcing the Inquisition soldiers to retreat behind their Herald.

“Or not,” Dorian followed up as two people entered once the soldiers had stopped moving.

The man was easy to recognize as Alistair, with his golden hair slicked back and his brown skin and his chiseled jaw dark with stubble and his eyes hardened and narrowed as he glared first at the soldiers and then at Fiona, who had more or less backed into Salshira as the soldiers filed in.

But the woman… She wasn’t Anora, as Salshira would have expected, but she was terribly familiar. It took a while to place her, steely grey eyes and long brown hair and aristocratic features and so much creamy skin, but it was the necklace she wore that made it click. A dragonfly, its body made of twisted silver and its wings made of the most delicate panes of colored blue and green glass, on a shining silver chain.  _ No… It couldn’t be her! _ Yet all signs pointed to the truth and dizziness washed over her, a fresh wave of disbelief that this was anything but a dream. Yet when she pinched herself it hurt, and she still couldn’t wake up.  _ Not a dream. But it so can’t be real! _

“Grand Enchanter,” Alistair called in a commanding voice. “We’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.”

Wringing her hands, Fiona stepped forward and bowed low. “Your Majesties,” she said haltingly.

The woman spoke, her chin high and her grey eyes like mirrors. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive our people from their homes,” she declared, her accent Fereldan and noble, her voice clear and low.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Fiona spoke. “King Alistair, Queen Elissa, I assure you we never intended…”  _ Oh, fuck, it is her! My own goddamn character… What the fuck? _

Elissa cut her off with a savage gesture. “In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough. You invited a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium to drive our citizens from their homes. That cannot stand.”

“You and your followers have worn out your welcome,” Alistair continued, and the way they moved together, spoke almost as one, was almost like watching poetry happen before her eyes. “Leave Ferelden, or we’ll be forced to make you leave.”

Fiona looked stricken, hands clenched tightly together. “But we have  _ hundreds _ who need protection,” she protested. “Where will we go?”

“With us,” Salshira said, stepping down from the dias. Three pairs of eyes found her, and she was somewhat surprised by the force of personality behind the royal couple’s gazes. “We need your help to close the Breach, to fight the demons and whatever is responsible for this catastrophe. That was why I came in the first place, though our information said nothing of what was happening here when we arrived.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked suspiciously. Salshira suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Hopefully better than whatever Alexius gave you,” Dorian said pointedly, then shot Salshira a look and beat her over the head with his point. “The Inquisition  _ is _ better than that, yes?”

That time she actually did roll her eyes, turning to Dorian so he’d be the only one to see it. “We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” Salshira told the room. Alistair regarded her with curiosity and some respect, but Elissa was still unreadable.  _ Yep, that’s in character. What the fuck… _

Fiona swallowed hard. “A generous offer,” she admitted. “But will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

“We cannot afford to be divided,” she replied. “Everyone must band together to face this crisis. With your full support, we can succeed.”

“It’s a generous offer,” Alistair urged. “I doubt you’re going to get a better one from us.”

Fiona’s sorrow likely had less to do with her current predicament and more to do with her son apparently hating her. “We accept,” she said at last. “It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

Salshira looked at the group of her soldiers standing off to the side of the room and gestured them forward. “My people will guide and protect you on the road,” she said, and all of them saluted her at once.  _ That’s nice. They follow my orders. _

Dismissed from the attention of the royal couple with things to do, Fiona left after bowing deeply, the Inquisition soldiers trailing after her. Salshira and her group remained, as did the monarchs, though the Ferelden soldiers began to depart.

“Might I have a word, Your Majesties?” Salshira asked, her voice much softer now that she didn’t have to make any official proclamations. The pair turned those powerful gazes on her once more.

“I suppose you might,” Elissa said impassively. Alistair inclined his head in agreement.

“I hope that you do not think poorly of the Inquisition because of what happened here,” she began. “The circumstances are much more complex than they appear. The magister who did this had a few more tricks up his sleeve than expected.”

“The Imperium is slippery,” Alistair groused, glowering at nothing in particular until Elissa gently put her hand on his. He straightened at her touch, his face smoothing in an attempt to be impassive like his wife. “And their tricks are often deadly. I am pleased that the Herald of Andraste is safe.”

She couldn’t quite tell if he was mocking her or not from his tone, but she allowed herself to smile. “Saying a thing enough times does not make it true,” she told them. “I claim no divine right or anything of the sort. I’m just a person who found myself in a position to make a difference. So I’m making the most of it that I can.”

“That is good to hear,” Elissa said. “It would be unfortunate if we were to clash in the future.”

“I’d rather avoid that, if possible,” Salshira told them. “I hope that we can coexist in peace, if not work together.”

She bowed to them, a practiced motion that Vivienne and Josephine had taught her, then left with her companions following close behind her.

“That was well handled,” Solas complimented, but she wasn’t quite sure how to act around him yet so all she managed was a distracted smile.

The others discussed the events of the past day without her input on the way back to Haven as she attempted to process it all and figure out how, precisely, to break the narrative and what it meant that the Queen of Ferelden was the one she had written herself.

 

* * *

“It is not matter for debate,” Cullen said, scowling his displeasure. “There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared!”

Salshira scowled right back as she joined the apparent debate and poured herself some wine. She had to clench her jaw so she didn’t verbally castrate him at once, giving Josephine time to weigh in. “If we rescind the offer of alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst,” she observed mildly, missing the point that the mages were people and deserved better than Cullen breathing down their necks and Templars at their throats.

And then Cullen turned to Salshira, all but giving her permission tear him a new one. “What were you thinking turning mages loose with no oversight?” he accused, still glowering. “The Veil is torn open!”

“Oh, shove it up your ass, Cullen!” Salshira cried, slamming her cup onto the War Table hard enough to slosh some dark red liquid over the side. She was so frustrated with him she was too nauseous for the alcohol, anyway. “The mages are people, just like you, who have been through unimaginable horrors, just like you. This isn’t an ‘us and them’ thing, it’s groups of people who just want to fucking survive this mess and be treated with a little dignity. If you don’t like that I trust the mages to police their own, as they have  _ been doing  _ since the Circles fell, there’s the fucking door. I won’t stop you.” No one moved, though Cullen did appear appropriately chastised. “If, however, you want to focus on the matter at hand, I’d be grateful for your less bigoted input.”

“We cannot afford to second guess our people,” Cassandra said, glaring at Cullen. That was a pleasant surprise. “The sole point of the mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Dorian was leaning against a back wall, observing with a veneer of amusement. “The voice of pragmatism speaks,” he quipped. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra looked down her nose at him, and Salshira took back all the charitable thoughts she’d just had for the Seeker. “Closing the Breach is all that matters,” she said.

“Tolerance that lasts only as long as a goal before being replaced with the enmity felt before is both meaningless and insulting unless you can learn from the experience,” Salshira snapped, glaring daggers at Cassandra. “You and Cullen should both spend time with the mages to understand what they’ve been through, to see them as more than potential demon houses that can shoot lightning at you. See the individuals that make up the group. Accept them, don’t just tolerate them.” She buried her face in her mug and said, muffled by the tin, “Fuckers.” She noticed from the corner of her eye that Dorian was gazing at her like she’d just told him the sun shined out of his ass.

She sighed heavily, trying to rid herself of her frustration for the moment. “We need to prepare housing, supplies. Lyrium. Closing the Breach will require a lot of magic, and we need to make sure we’re prepared.”

“We have some contacts with the Mining Caste of Orzammar we can call upon for lyrium,” Josephine offered, flipping through the papers she kept with her and jotting a few things down. “As for housing, there is room in Haven, though not by much. I am uncertain how we will house everyone if you manage to unite the Templars as well.”

“We’ll jump off that bridge when we get to it,” Salshira said. “Speaking of which, how are we doing with that?”

Josephine flipped to a different page and hummed in displeasure. “Well, I’ve managed to send a large number of nobles and my best diplomat to Therinfall Redoubt, but they’ve been completely stonewalled and the Lord Seeker refuses to see any of them,” she reported.

“Damn it,” Salshira muttered. “How long would it take me to get there?”

“Too long,” Cullen told her. “You must seal the Breach first.”

“But if I do that, they’ll never agree to join us!” she cried, knowing full well that time was running out.

“We have no choice,” Cassandra told her sternly.

Josephine nodded. “Our allies will not understand why you delay when you can close the Breach now. In fact, I do not understand why you are pushing this so hard. The Templars will still be there after. We can try again once the immediate crisis is dealt with.”

She was trying to comfort Salshira, but it failed.  _ They won’t be there after. They’ll be our enemy. But I can’t convince them. _ She sighed heavily, still hoping she could find a way.

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said into the silence. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian offered, still looking very much at ease leaning against a wall. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!”

“One battle at a time,” Cullen said, rubbing at his head as though he had a headache. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits.”

“If it’s going to take time anyway, why can’t I go to Therinfall while you get on that?” Salshira demanded.

“Not that much time,” Leliana said softly. “It will take weeks to get to Therinfall Redoubt, and then it will take time to negotiate an alliance. And then, after all that, it will take weeks to return, and then who knows how long it would take to organize both the Templars and the mages within the confines of Haven. No, we must deal with the Breach first.”

_ I failed, _ Salshira realized, despair crushing her chest.

“We should begin planning,” Cullen said, shifting the papers on the War Table to show the relevant ones for the problem at hand. “Join us,” he offered Salshira, attempting to look friendly as a means of apology. “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.” Reluctantly, she nodded.

“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian drawled, pushing off from the wall at last to move towards the door. “But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Salshira smiled at him. “Then you’ll stay?” She ignored the glare from Cassandra, not caring a single bit what she thought of her.

“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Dorian quipped. “The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

“There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present,” Salshira told him with a grin.

He smiled back. “Excellent choice! But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?”

“Good idea, probably,” she admitted wryly.

Then he left, and they got to work organizing their new allies. Salshira mostly stayed silent, knowing very little about this part of the process. She had a few suggestions about housing and made a few demands on them to treat the mages with a little more dignity than they were initially inclined to. She suggested they all receive a number of lessons in basic survival skills now that they were living outside the Circles, to teach them skills they wouldn’t have learned before. They forced her to bend to more oversight than she would have liked, but she was not Inquisitor yet and she was up against a former Templar and a former Seeker. It was a battle she couldn’t win, not entirely.

When the meeting was over she wandered Haven aimlessly, thinking. When she kept running into too many people, all of whom wanted to speak to her and interrupt her thoughts, she eventually climbed onto the roof of the Chantry where no one else dared to go. She’d seen children climbing on all the other buildings, but somehow the Chantry was off limits even to them. She was grateful, but she wondered why. From up there, she could see all of Haven sprawled out before her, and she could see the frozen lake where there would be good fishing in the summer. Or, there would have been. But Haven was going to be destroyed soon.

And she couldn’t save the Templars. Part of her wanted to sneak away alone. She wanted to go to Therinfall without the blessing of her advisors, force them to back her by removing the other options. But it was a terrible idea. She likely wouldn’t make it that far, she wasn’t experienced enough with the roads and living away from civilization. She simply wasn’t skilled enough yet to make that journey viable alone. And none of the others would understand why it was so vital to her, and she couldn’t tell them. There was nothing she could do about it, however, so for the moment she allowed her thoughts to drift away. 

_ Thedas really does have two moons, _ she thought as she laid back on the roof and looked at the sky. One was incredibly large, or maybe incredibly close and loomed near the horizon. The other was much smaller on the other side of the sky, getting ready to set as its sister rose. They only shared the sky for about an hour, she’d discovered on nights when she sat watch or when she couldn’t sleep, and she loved them. She wondered how they affected the tides, and wished she’d ever known enough about sailing on Earth to tell.

So much was different about Thedas. Different than what she’d known, different even than what she expected. It was difficult to keep up sometimes, partially because she kept drifting into a sort of dream state where she was very certain that none of it was real. Sometimes it almost felt like she was sitting on her couch in her pajamas playing the game, like she’d never left her apartment that night at all. No portal, no change in reality, no being trapped in a video game.

But somehow laying on the roof of the Chantry felt very real. The shingles were frozen and covered in a fine layer of ice from a recent and brief thaw that had frozen when the sun went down, but her cloak protected her from the moisture when her body melted it. She could feel them under her back, could see her breath in the air, could feel the chill on her fingertips beneath her gloves and in the tip of her nose. There were no clouds that night and it was cold, but it reminded her of where she’d grown up in the north, when she’d get frozen into her house at least once a year and all the kids at her school would build palaces in the two feet of snow they always got. She remembered how everyone would bring bottles of water and pour them onto the mountains of snow left by the plows in the parking lot, and they’d freeze overnight so that the next day they had the most amazing slide in the world. Or at least it had seemed that way to a bunch of kids whose ages hadn’t yet reached double digits.

She smiled fondly at the memory, watching the vapor of her breath disappear into the sky, highlighted by the rising moon. She hadn’t let herself think about everything she’d left behind, had thought it would drive her even crazier. But she hadn’t really left much behind, had she? A roommate, sure, a woman she’d loved dearly. But she would have left her behind soon anyway, moved to another country and started over again. A mother, a sister, but she hadn’t been terribly close to either of them in a long time. She’d moved away and left them behind a long time ago, and she had never been good at staying in touch. She hadn’t lived in that city long enough to have close friends, just acquaintances who might miss for for a while but who wouldn’t cry over the loss. She’d even left the snow behind, moved somewhere warm and sunny and coastal. And even that hadn’t felt like home. And despite everything that had happened, what she missed the most from her old life was the ability to be honest. _ And the internet, that shit was fabulous, _ she admitted to herself with a smile.

“What are you doing up here?” The question was soft, pitched low, designed not to startle her, but she sat up with a gasp and drew away.

“Solas?” she asked, frowning. All she could see of him over the edge of the roof was his head, covered by a hood, but his elven eyes gleamed in the low light and she knew his voice a little too well.

“Ir abelas,” he said, hefting himself higher. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around her knees. “I was just lost in thought, that’s all.”

He came up to sit on the roof with her, though he kept his distance, and for a moment they sat in slightly uncomfortable silence. “May I ask what thoughts brought you to this particular roof?” he asked softly at last, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“People always talk to me, and the kids climb on the other roofs so I wouldn’t have been able to avoid them, before everyone went to bed,” she admitted.

“Ah,” Solas sighed. “And now I am the one intruding upon your solitude.” He moved to leave, but she reached out and caught his hand.

“No! I… I could actually use some company,” she managed, blushing as she released his hand. He settled again, looking at her curiously. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“I went to your cabin to see if you wished to have a lesson tonight, but you were not there and your fireplace was cold. As I was returning to my cabin I noticed footprints in the snow that led up the wall and thought I might see who was brave enough to scale the Chantry,” he told her, and she smiled a little.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I’m not in the mood for lessons tonight,” she said, but he shook his head.

“The events at Redcliffe have shaken you,” he observed. “It is understandable.” They were silent for a while longer, but it was easy this time.

They watched as one moon rose and the other set, and Solas spoke again once there was a single moon in the sky. “What were you thinking about as you laid here before I intruded?” His voice was soft, and she could tell he was fishing for information about her. She smiled a little, somehow gratified that he was still suspicious of her. Even though she was terrified of the thought of her secrets getting out, she’d come to think of their relationship as a game of keep-away. They each had secrets that threatened the fabric of reality, after all, and she held more cards than he knew. And now she had hope, some small seed that hadn’t yet begun to sprout, that maybe she wasn’t doomed for caring about him, for wanting him. Maybe it could be her greatest victory against the narrative, if only she could change his mind.

So she gave up a little bit of ground and told him the truth. “I was thinking about my childhood,” she whispered to the stars. “We used to build palaces in the snow and take turns being the monarch of a little kingdom made of ice. We used to sculpt thrones and then pour water on them to freeze overnight so they’d be sturdy enough to actually sit on. It was simple, and fun, and nobody knew anything about how to actually run a kingdom.” She chuckled, remembering how a friend had once commanded them all to bring her the finest snowballs they could create for her to judge and then put in her vault and called it taxes.

When she looked over, Solas was smiling at her. “Where was this?” he asked quietly, but he’d have to try harder than that.

“Far away,” she said, looking up at the sky again. “Long ago.” It felt longer now. She’d done so much more than she’d ever thought she would. She’d hunted for meat that she had butchered, cooked, and eaten. She’d killed people. And she’d do it again. She’d ridden a horse on weeks long journeys and slept in a tent as she traveled. All of those were things she’d never thought would happen to her. And not all of them were bad, though many of them were at least uncomfortable if not downright unpleasant.

“You speak as though you lived a thousand years,” Solas observed, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“It feels that way, sometimes,” she admitted. “I know I’m still young, but I’ve seen more than I ever expected to.”

“You miss a simpler time,” he said, and though she supposed he had meant it to be a question it had come out as a statement.

“I miss…” she began, but she trailed off. She wasn’t really sure what she missed, after everything she’d been through. Abusive dad, sister she’d never gotten along with, a string of boyfriends who had never heard the word consent and girlfriends who always found someone better, always moving and never feeling at home. Struggling to pay her bills and to hold down a shitty job and to deal with all the stress that was just a part of life. Not that, she didn’t miss that. “I miss palaces that were never real, and fights where no one got hurt unless they slipped, and then everyone helped them back up. I miss cold nights in a warm room and tea made with honey, watching the snow fall outside.”

They were silent for a while after that, but soon Solas stood and moved toward the edge of the roof before turning to her. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. His smile was kind and there was a light in his eyes that intrigued her, so she took his hand.

They returned to the ground and then he led her away from the Chantry. At first she thought he was taking her back to her cabin, but they walked past it without stopping. Curiously, she kept up with his brisk pace, burning with questions she didn’t ask because it felt somehow like ruining the moment. They left Haven altogether, waving at the gate guard who watched them curiously but didn’t stop them, and then kept walking. They left sight of Haven, left earshot, and then at last Solas stopped in a little meadow by the frozen lake and turned to her with his arms spread wide.

“Shall we build a palace?” he asked, smirking. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she took another around. Fresh snow up to the knee, unbroken but for a few rabbit trails here and there, a large enough area for the snow tunnels the kids at school used to build, even. She grinned at him as she gathered a handful of snow, squishing it experimentally to see if it was wet enough for construction, incredibly pleased with the result.

“I have a better idea,” she said, still looking around at the moonlight reflecting on ice crystals. She looked up at him as he raised a brow curiously, then flung her snowball at him. It struck him in the middle of the chest, exploding to leave bits of snow dripping off his chin. For a moment he looked startled, but then he narrowed his eyes with intent. He stooped for some snow but she was already running, gathering handfuls as she went. She shrieked when his first strike met her back and flung hers over her shoulder as she kept running. A moment later she was doused from above by a slab of snow that knocked her off her feet.

“No magic, it’s not fair!” she yelled as she scrambled back to her feet and flung snow at his face. “I don’t know that spell!”

“Then learn, da’len!” he called back, throwing a much more mundane snowball at her.

The fight didn’t end until they were both soaked through and frozen, breathless with laughter, cheeks and ears red and noses running. At last they were forced to call a truce, and though they were freezing they took the time to make a snowman before heading back to Haven. They huddled together for warmth as they walked and by silent agreement they didn’t say goodnight at Salshira’s door. She went with Solas to his cabin and rebuilt the fire that had burned out. Solas had a stash of Flissa’s best cider hidden in his room, which made her giggle, but they poured some in a teapot and set it to warm over the fire as they stripped down to their underclothes and wrapped themselves in blankets, clothes hung by the fire to dry. When the cider was hot they poured it into a pair of battered tankards and sat before the fire to drink it, leaning against each other in companionable silence. And when the cider was drained and they were warm again and it would have been the perfect time for her to say goodnight and leave, Solas grabbed a pair of pillows from the bed and they fell asleep together, wrapped in blankets and laying on the floor with their toes pointed toward the fireplace to keep them warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter kind of got away from me at the end, but I like it!


	20. Chapter 20

“Can I truly believe that it was, in fact, time travel that they experienced?” Solas mused to himself, pacing back and forth in Wisdom’s home while wisps fluttered about knocking over stacks of books and then restacking them, endlessly rearranging the endless library. “And if it was, the implications for the damage caused to the Veil are potentially disastrous.”

Wisdom watched him pace while she lounged on a couch made of aspirations strewn with cushions made of clouds, an indulgent little smile on her lips. “So many hypotheticals,” she observed, her gaze sharp despite her lazy posture. “Salshira says it was actual time travel, doesn’t she?”

“Was it the Fade? A trick, or an illusion?” Solas wondered, scowling.

“Maybe she does not see herself as a Dreamer, but she is one,” Wisdom told him, sitting up at last. “Don’t you think she would be able to tell the difference at this point, and after all you’ve taught her?”

Solas sighed heavily. “You are correct,” he admitted, settling onto a stool Worry summoned for him. “However, that leaves us with the remaining option. It was real, and that could be devastating.”

“Yet it gives you a distinct advantage over your enemies,” Wisdom reminded him. “One that those running the Inquisition have no doubt seen and already begun to capitalize on. Knowing where the trap will be sprung is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

“True,” Solas sighed. “Yet we saw the rifts that distorted time. What damage was done to the Veil by something as destructive and dangerous as time travel?”

Wisdom sighed. “I suppose we shall see,” was all she said.

“Salshira was quite pale when she returned,” Solas told his friend, frowning. “She allowed the Tevinter mage, Dorian, to explain what had happened for her while she stared at the rug intently.”

“I would imagine that time travel is not a thing easily endured,” Wisdom mused, returning to her lazy pose and watching him with sharp eyes veiled by heavy lids.

“It did not seem to me that the portal was particularly difficult for her,” Solas argued.

Wisdom sighed at him, and even that sounded lazy. “Not the portal, fallon. She saw awful things, more than she revealed. She executed Alexius, saw a twisted and wasted Felix. She killed slaves, and met another version of you. And then she erased it all.”

“Would she not view it as an informative experience?” he wondered. “As you said, what she saw will not come to pass.”

“Her hands were still stained with blood when she returned from a place that will never exist, and it was not washed away when the portal closed,” Wisdom reminded him sadly, and he saw it.

“It was real to her,” he sighed on a breath, the truth just before him.

Wisdom nodded. “At least that much you will see,” she muttered, now sounding oddly bitter.

“What do you mean?” Solas asked, scowling at her. She sighed and laid flat on her cushions, arm over her face dramatically.

“You are…  _ enamored, _ ” the spirit drawled, and drew his head back sharply.

“Hardly,” he insisted, eyes narrowing.

Wisdom rolled onto her side and propped her cheek on her hand to blink at him like a lazy cat. “Oh? Then what were you doing last night?”

“It was… a kindness to help her remain focused and at her best,” he told her, but it didn’t sound like the truth even to his ears. Wisdom merely raised a brow and he sighed. “It is in my best interest to keep her content,” he reminded his friend.

A wisp floated down between them, dropping a book in its haste to join the conversation. “When she laughs, you smile. You want to make her laugh because you want to smile. She likes to laugh, but it’s hard for her now,” it chimed, its voice like tiny bells.

“Just so,” Wisdom murmured, smiling at the wisp that shared her home.

Solas was suddenly overcome with the memory of Salshira as she pelted him with snow, laughing loudly, her nose and cheeks and the tips of her ears red with cold and her hair damp from his own barrage, strands wrapping around her neck. He wanted to pull them away, to touch the skin they gripped, to warm her face with his hands. He shook the images away.

“I have an interest in her wellbeing,” he admitted at last, but the wisp vibrated and Wisdom rolled her eyes.

“Ma fallon, you may lie to yourself but not to me,” she informed him sharply. “You have shifted in your sleep and you are now holding her in your arms.” He felt his cheeks flame, knowing she would not lie.

The wisp burst with excess energy, shedding bright light over them as it vibrated excitedly, and flew right up into his face to fill his vision and boom at him in its voice of bells, “IT’S SNUGGLETOWN!” and effectively startled him awake.

 

* * *

Salshira was warm when she woke, and though her left shoulder hurt the rest of her body seemed cushioned in warm clouds. She woke slowly, unwilling to part from the sensation and the peace it brought her. It wasn’t until someone else gasped at her ear and then promptly began choking that she was startled awake and realized what was happening.

She’d fallen asleep on the floor in Solas’s cabin beside him, and sometime in the night they had managed to end up entwined in each other. Not only that, but Solas seemed to be spooning her, his warmth surrounding her, and her pillow had been replaced by his arm. She turned to regard him with wide eyes and discovered that he had managed to inhale and then choke on her hair, which he’d apparently had his face buried in when he woke.

She bit her lip as she retrieved the troublesome strands, face warming and a few chuckles escaping despite her efforts. “Sorry,” she murmured as he caught his breath, noting the pink tinge in his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he slowly, cautiously extracted himself from her. No matter how careful he was, however, she couldn’t help but notice the rather large and hard weight that had been pressed into her ass. She pressed her lips together as hard as she could so she wouldn’t say anything rash that might humiliate him, and instead pretended that she hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, and she found it endearing.

They extracted themselves from the tangle of blankets and pillows on the floor and Salshira redressed in the previous day’s clothes to return to her cabin. She smiled at Solas before she left, standing before the door with her hood up, ready to go.

“Thank you,” she told him sincerely. “For last night. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun.”

His smile was soft and his cheeks were red once more. “Of course,” he murmured, then opened his mouth as though to say more. He closed it without saying anything, however, so she left and returned to her cabin. She needed a bath to wash the dried sweat and Solas’s spit out of her hair, and she chuckled to herself as she thought of it.

 

* * *

Leliana intercepted Salshira on her way to the War Room and drew her into a quiet corner of the Chantry. “While you were in Redcliffe, I investigated this note,” she said, handing back the sample of English writing Salshira had given her before she left.

“Did you figure it out?” she asked curiously.

Leliana shook her head, frowning. “I tried myself, then gave it to my best code breakers. We eventually sent a copy by raven to a contact in Val Royeaux, but they are stumped as well,” she admitted, and Salshira couldn’t help but smile. “Does it even mean anything?” she asked at last, sounding frustrated.

“It does,” Salshira revealed. “But I’m glad you couldn’t crack it.”

“If you teach it to my scouts, our sensitive correspondence would be completely safe,” the spymaster urged, but there was no way she would do that.

“Not a chance,” Salshira said bluntly, and walked past her. She dropped the note in a brazier as she passed. There was no way she’d compromise the security of her notes, for they were even more important than Leliana’s correspondences. She just hoped the spymaster didn’t suspect her of something like working against them. She doubted she would, but it was a worry all the same.

“So, how are the mages settling in?” Salshira asked as she joined the… Discussion was too kind a word for it, but they were carefully not arguing. Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine were already in the War Room and had clearly been going at it for some time. Cassandra was speaking through clenched teeth, Cullen was scowling, and Josephine sounded so friendly and polite that she was definitely about to snap.

“They keep expecting us to wait on them,” Cassandra ground out, and Salshira raised a brow.

“Are they perhaps asking for things that they were never taught to do for themselves in a Circle?” she asked sweetly. Cass opened her mouth, eyes flashing, and Salshira cut her off. “Think about the question very carefully before you answer.”

“It’s likely.” The response came from Cullen as Cassandra glowered. He gazed at nothing for a few moments as he thought about it. “Yes, they are,” he decided at last, nodding.

“Then the solution is simple,” Salshira told them. “Teach them. I told you yesterday this would happen. Hopefully now you’ll take me seriously.”

“You were quite right,” Josephine said, but she still sounded flustered. “However, I am still concerned about the Templars in our ranks. Some of them are not taking well to our new allies.”

“That’s too fucking bad,” Salshira said, glowering. “They’re not Templars anymore, they left the order to join the Inquisition. As members of the Inquisition, they must treat all our allies with the respect they deserve. Every member has a responsibility to make a good impression. Maybe remind them of that.”

“I’m taking over a group of volunteers from the mages today,” Leliana said, having mysteriously appeared at the edge of the room when no one was looking. “With Solas and Enchanter Vivienne’s assistance, we will get them ready to assist in closing the Breach.”

“Let me know as soon as they’re ready,” Salshira told her. “Now, then. Unless there’s something urgent I trust you can take care of the rest of it without me. It’s been an ordeal and it’s only going to get worse when we go close the Breach and I’d like some time to myself. Can you keep this organization from exploding while I take a nap?”

“Of course,” Josephine soothed. “Go rest, take care of yourself. None of this would be possible without you, after all.” The others nodded assent, so Salshira left.

They were like squabbling children sometimes, and she could only hope they’d get better as time went on. Maybe it would help when the issues they were facing weren’t Templars versus mages and she no longer had to impose her own views on them. It didn’t seem that hard to her to treat the mages like people, but she also hadn’t spent her whole life being taught that mages  _ weren’t _ people. Still, it wore on her temper pretty fast when they couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

Salshira spent the morning writing in her journals, notes on the destruction of Haven and speculations about what Corypheus might do differently than the narrative she remembered, how she should react to it. She did her planning under the assumption that the Templars were lost to her, though it hurt to admit it.

It was Sera who came to remind her that lunch was happening, to her surprise. The elven girl chattered during the meal about the snooping she’d been getting up to and Salshira had a chance to ask her about the Red Jennies. It was good to get to know her, to talk to someone who had as little interest in talking about her past as she did. They talked instead about what they knew, what they did, and Salshira found it easy to make conversation with her. She laughed at all Sera’s many ideas for pranks, and offered a few more for her list.

Salshira passed the time until the mages were ready to help close the Breach with light activity and company. It seemed like those who would become her inner circle were taking turns reminding her of meals, finding her writing her notes or working on her sewing or holed up in Adan’s workshop learning about plants and making herself lotions and tonics.

Her period, or cycle as it was apparently called, found her again a week early, and laid her out in her cabin for two days as Adan struggled to find a concoction that would sufficiently ease her pain. When he finally did, she was pale and anemic and shaking, and she hadn’t been able to eat more than a few bites since the pain began.

“I know this is a sensitive topic, m’lady, but after what we’ve just been through together I’m going to bring it up anyway,” he told her as he washed his hands in her water basin. He’d just gotten done with a check up, performing tests on her menstrual blood to try to figure out if she was sick with something besides hormones and coming up negative.

“Shoot,” she told him, trying to convince her stomach that the water she was sipping should stay where she put it and gazing blankly into a corner of the room.

“Well, the good news is that your elevated symptoms are most likely a result of the extreme stress you’re under,” he told her. “The bad news is that your stress levels aren’t likely to fall anytime soon.” She snorted. He was more right than he knew. “So my suggestion for treatment is something that will help to control your hormone levels so that maybe you won’t end up curled up in the fetal position next month. However, it’s also a contraceptive.”

Salshira blinked at him blankly for a while. “Am I supposed to be offended?” she asked at last.

Adan shrugged. “Different people have different views on fertility and the use of contraceptives,” he said. “I don’t know you well enough to know what yours are.”

Salshira snorted, shaking her head. “Even if I wanted kids, can you really think of a worse time for me to have them? I’m also not even involved with anyone, and if I was I still wouldn’t want kids at any point in the near future, if ever, so really my fertility is as far down my list of priorities as it can get. If it’ll help manage the pain, I’m in. What do I have to do?”

Adan nodded, seeming pleased. “I’ll mix up a batch of herbs. Every morning, toss a pinch into a tea cup and brew it. You have to drink it every day without exception. Can you do that?”

“How will it taste?” she asked, anticipating the bitterness of some of his other brews.

“I can drown it in lavender, if you want, but most of the herbs involved are pretty mild and even floral,” he told her, and she sighed her relief.

“Drink tea every morning? Can do,” she told him with a smile. He returned it and handed her the waterskin with her pain tonic, which was approximately a quarter honey after all her complaining. She got pretty whiney when she was in that much pain, it seemed.

When at last she emerged from her cabin to get a bath, a runner found her almost right away. The note she was given said that the mages were ready, and Salshira sighed heavily. Looked like she’d be spending her afternoon packing for the trip to Skyhold, then, making sure she had all the important things when Corypheus and his fucking dragon swooped down on them. Alistair was right, after all; swooping was bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features Smol Dum Child Yelling Nonsense at the Dread Wolf, courtesy of my lovely friend @solverne-02 on tumblr, who helped me past my writer's block at the beginning of the chapter. The snuggletown thing was hers, and I know she didn't mean for me to use it when she said it, but how could I not?
> 
> Anyway, this chapter took ages because I have a new job so that's what I've been doing instead of writing. Also I couldn't resist the last line, there. It's too fun!


	21. Chapter 21

There were too many unknowns, and Salshira had been living the game just long enough to know to expect the worst. So rather than leave a packed bag in her cabin and assume she’d have time to grab it, she kept a packed bag on her back as she climbed with the mages, Cassandra, Leliana, and Solas up to the destroyed Temple where they could get to the rift that fed the Breach. She got a few curious looks for it, but no one questioned her. She refused to risk the loss of her journals, either to fire or to Corypheus, and she kept many of her herbal mixtures for various purposes, her pain tonic, and her favorite sewing project in the bag with them. They were the closest things she had to treasured personal items, and she didn’t want to lose them. Even so, it felt strange to have such a light little bag on her back carrying everything she’d rather not have to live without for however long it took to reach Skyhold. She more or less carried her whole life in that bag, which was an interesting and slightly depressing thought.

She was also fully armored, with her bow strapped to her quiver at her thigh and her throwing knives on her belt, fancy little magical potions for pain and stamina stowed away in a little padded belt pouch. She didn’t know exactly when the attack would come, but she was taking no chances of being caught with her pants down. Josephine approved of the aesthetic anyway, looking the part of the strong and prepared Herald of Andraste, so she didn’t get any shit for it.

The hike was a long one, and though they rode their horses as far up the mountain as horses could go it was also a difficult one. Most of their company was silent as they focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not tumbling down the mountainside, and Salshira used to quiet to plan, to remember, to figure out how to trick people into preparing for the move to Skyhold without knowing that they were doing it. She tried to figure out exactly how long it would take for Corypheus to reach them after realizing what she’d done, and what it meant. But without knowing where he was, or how far along he was in organizing his army, or whether or not he was already marching their way, there was really just no way to know. In the game, it happened during a party, but that didn’t mean it would happen that way for her. For all she knew the festivities in the game had been going on for days, people taking a while to just breathe even though the fight wasn’t over yet. She didn’t have enough information to even make a guess, but she’d been suggesting to the scouts while waiting for the trip up the mountain that they might range further out since visibility was low around Haven. She hoped it would be enough to make a small bit of difference when the Red Templars did arrive.

When they finally arrived at the Temple, Salshira’s headache was intense. She reached into her pack and took a swig of her fancy new painkilling brew, hoping it was just a menstrual migraine even though she knew better. It did little to numb the pain, but it did dull it slightly so she counted that a win because she needed to win something. It was going to be a while before her next chance. She refused to look at the Breach, at the rift, as she waited for the mages to prepare, and tried not to worry too hard.

Solas came to her when they were almost ready, and the hand he placed on her shoulder was humming with soothing magic. “Are you ready?” he asked her softly, so that only she would hear.

She gave him a wry smile. “No,” she admitted, and the magic in his hand intensified. It made a bit of a dent into her headache, though not even his magic could truly counteract the effects of being so near a rift. Whatever magic was in the Anchor, he couldn’t do much about it. She found that interesting, wondered if it meant something, if it said something about his relationship to the magic. Maybe it was just because it was in her hand instead of his, but she suspected there might be more to it than that.

“It will not be the same as the first time,” he assured her. “This time you will have the power you need at your call.”

She scrubbed at her face with her hands, then shook herself out. With a brave smile she squared her shoulders. “I was just tired last time,” she said brightly, still pitching her voice low. “It’ll be fine.” He smiled back, though his eyes betrayed that he was not convinced by her bravado. She couldn’t blame him. The Breach definitely scared her, and he knew a little too well what kind of toll closing rifts took on her.

He took her hand and his energy swirled into the mark, soothing it, powering it, and for just a single dizzying split second her mind opened to his. For an instant she knew the true, terrifying depths of his power, how much magic was stored in him, how much he was keeping back and how much was kept from him by the Veil, by his fatigue, by his inability to adapt to the way magic flowed through the modern world. For an instant she knew him as a god, as a man older than time itself, as a rebel and a warrior and a pariah. For an instant, he terrified her as she saw all the blood that stained his hands, the deaths of thousands, millions, and though many of the lives he blamed himself for ending were indirect so many,  _ so very many _ of them were ended by his hand. He had seen the light die from more pairs of eyes than she had ever seen in her life, had caused or witnessed their end, and for an instant she saw every single one. He knew them still, even after so long, and he knew the details of their eyes. Every color imaginable, their shapes and the lashes around them. The acrid taste of smoke, the metallic bitterness of blood, and for an instant she knew it all, held them in her arms as they died. And for an instant, she knew his guilt, his shame, his desperation to make it right. So many deaths could not be for nothing, so many eyes gazing at him from behind the Veil, accusing, could not be allowed to rot. For an instant, she knew his resolve and understood it perfectly.

And then the instant was over, his magic withdrawing from the mark, and when she looked at him, dazed from that moment of perfect clarity, his face was smooth and stoic as though nothing had happened. And maybe nothing had, not for him. Maybe it was the Anchor reacting to its creator, opening her mind for her in an attempt to reconnect with him. Maybe she’d imagined it, though the pit in her stomach and the dizziness in her head and the utter conviction in her chest said that she hadn’t.

But there wasn’t time for that now because the mages were ready and Solas turned to them. “Focus past the Herald,” he told them, his magic thrumming in the air to show them. “Let her will draw from you.” And there was no more time to wonder, to fret, to plan. She took a deep and steadying breath, then looked at the Breach, thrust out her hand to make the connection.

Like before, it felt like getting struck by lightning if lightning had a consciousness. Electricity and mana surged in her, made all the fine hairs on her body stand on end as it crackled across her skin. The rift, the Breach, they were angry, hurting, confused. She could feel the Fade beyond, could see the edges of the Black City as it tried to reach for her, a handful of voices crying out from it to free them, save them, end the torment. But no, not there, she couldn’t focus there. The rift tried to burn her, so much agony within it, so much more than the other rifts, and she almost lost herself to it before she felt the soothing waves of mana. She grabbed at them, drew on them, pulled them around her like a warm cloak in a snowstorm, trying to push back against the wind. Whatever power she needed was given, and once she’d pushed the agony off her mind she focused it.  _ I am so sorry, _ she told the Breach and those who lay dying on the other side.  _ This is all I can do for you. _

It was like sewing, she discovered. Push the magic in, draw it back out, a stitch in the fabric of the world. Little by little, the rift began to close and the window into the Fade darkened. It felt like it took years, decades, centuries, as she slowly pulled the fabric closed. But she did it, kept working until the job was done. She ignored the screaming of tortured spirits, driven mad by proximity to the Breach. She ignored the Black City that tried to draw her in, to crack it open like a geode to release what was within. She ignored everything except her task until it was finished.

The last stitch was like closing an airlock open to the vacuum of space, as though a great force pulling on her was removed all at once and she could breathe again. She fell to one knee and simply stayed there for a while, reveling in the sensation of having her breath back. She was dizzy, lightheaded, and her headache was worse. Her hand ached fiercely, green lightning sparking from her palm as the mark protested the sheer volume of raw power she’d forced it to accept.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Cassandra’s worried face. After a few moments of examining her charge she broke into a grin and helped Salshira to her feet. Everyone who had accompanied them cheered, the mages and the Inquisition soldiers whooping and laughing, and she blinked at them. It was odd to think they were cheering for her, for her accomplishment, yet they seemed to be doing just that. It was a sharp turn from the last time, when her failed attempt had been met with mostly solemn silence and hushed whispers of contested divinity. This was different. She wasn’t just the Herald of Andraste, an unknown woman sent to do something amazing. She was theirs, and they knew her at least a little, and she had just done the impossible.

It took a few moments to find her smile, but she grinned at them all. All their noise was making her head pound, but they needed it so she stood there and took it. She found Solas nearby, not cheering like the rest but smiling at her with approval, and she couldn’t help but smile back. When they began to calm a little, she decided she might say something.

“Thank you all,” she called to them, and the last of the noise died, all attention on her words. “This wouldn’t have been possible without you. Thank you for your dedication and your hard work. You are the heart of the Inquisition, and we will not forget what you did here today.”

They cheered again, but this time she couldn’t quite suppress her wince of pain as her head sharply reminded her that she needed to sit in the dark for a while. No one seemed to notice, however, as she turned to begin the trek back down the mountain. No one except Solas, actually, whose mana-charged hand found the back of her neck and managed to soothe most of her headache. She gave him a smile and murmured to him, “I need you to teach me that spell.”

His smile was soft, almost intimate. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Today you must relax, recover.”

“I’m still up for some  _ aju’elvyral’dun  _ if you are,” she told him, massaging her wrist absently. “It helps with the relaxing part.” He nodded as he took her hand. She blinked at him in surprise at such casual intimacy, but he merely soothed the mark for her and then released her, and she blushed a little at her assumption and at how disappointed she was to be wrong.  _ Oh, I’m in trouble, _ she realized as her heart fluttered.  _ Big, big trouble. _

 

* * *

The journey down the mountain was rather easier than the journey up since gravity was working with them this time, but even so by the time they made it down Salshira was exhausted. She left Cassandra to report their success to the other advisors and vanished into her cabin. She closed the place up to make it as dark as possible, lit a fire with her magic to keep her warm, and then fell into bed, the covers dragged up over her head.

An insistent knocking on her door finally roused her, but she simply glared at the door with a grunt and buried her face in her pillow. The knocking came again and she growled as she threw herself out of bed to answer the door, her head pounding in time to the banging. She threw it open mid knock and glared daggers at the intruder.

_ “What?” _ she snapped, glowering. Blackwall stood at parade rest and tried not to look bothered by her tone.

“You've been asleep all afternoon,” he informed her. “You're going to miss dinner again, and the lady Josephine asked me to make sure you didn't.”

Salshira sighed heavily and rubbed her face. “Yeah, okay. I'll get dressed and be there soon.” Then she shut the door in his face. Groaning, she buried her face in her hands for a few moments, hoping it might make the headache recede a little. Damn, she needed that healing spell bad.

She got dressed in a daze and was halfway through strapping on her armor before she realized she didn’t need to be armored to go to dinner. Then she remembered that they could get attacked at any point so she shrugged and continued, and even grabbed her little bag to keep with her. She dragged herself from her cabin and headed for the tavern with a sigh, rubbing at her neck to ease some of the tension there.

“You look prepared,” Cullen said with a small smile as he fell into step beside her. She glanced at him sideways, wondering if he’d drawn the short straw to have to babysit her.

“I was half asleep and got it most of the way on before I realized what I was doing,” she admitted, shrugging. He chuckled softly.

“I admit I’ve done the same,” he confided. “It becomes a routine, and then you feel naked without it.”

She gazed at his chest, clearly covered in leather wrapped metal. “So I see.” He rubbed the back of his reddened neck with a wry smile. “Anyway, this was just the first act. It’s not over yet.”

She’d more or less dismissed him from her attention when she said it, focusing on the bustling tavern and the way all the noise made her eyes feel like they were about to explode in her skull, so she missed his sharp look.

“Oi! Harry!” Salshira turned with a narrow-eyed look that only made Sera grin. “C’mere! Got you a bowl of venison stew right here.”

Salshira slid into the offered chair, right beside Krem. “If you call me Harry ever again, I’ll cram your quiver so far up your ass you’ll be snorting feathers,” she promised, making the younger elf laugh so hard she snorted. Krem chuckled as well.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” he said with a grin. “You should hear what the Boss calls me.”

“I can imagine,” she told him with wry humor. She remembered quite well all the ridiculous names Bull could come up with. She wanted to tease him with some but instead she dug into her food in the hopes that it would ease her headache.

After dinner her headache still wasn’t gone. In fact, it was worse after sitting in such a bright and noisy place for so long. She leaned against the doorframe of Solas’s cabin as she knocked, hoping that he’d be able to fix it, or at least help. When he answered the door he blinked to find her all but falling inside.

She sighed. “Can I come in and learn that anti-headache spell?” she asked, pitching her voice low so she wouldn’t hurt her own head. It had definitely progressed into a migraine, and one that was resistant to the healing powers of sleeping in a dark and quiet room for a few hours, and she was mad about it.

Solas stepped away from the door frame with an inviting gesture, so she stumbled inside and managed not to fall over. She sat on the floor near his fireplace wishing he’d get another chair and put her hands over her face for a moment to try to gather her wits. When she lowered them Solas was sitting across from her watching her with worried eyes.

He took her hands and showed her how to shape her power, using as few words as possible so that he was less likely to aggravate her headache and mostly just showing her what to do. She twisted her mana into the shape he showed her and touched it to the back of her neck when he indicated she was ready. She was so startled by the sudden intense cooling and receding of her migraine that she actually whimpered.

“Is it easier to cure the headache because I’m doing this to myself?” she asked after a moment, when her migraine was completely gone and she let her magic fade away.

Solas tilted his head curiously. “I doubt it,” he admitted. “It should not make that noticeable of a difference. It is possible that you possess a natural affinity for healing, or for headaches specifically, that I lack.”

“Aren’t you a healer, though?” she asked curiously, slightly delirious now that she was painless for the first time that day.

“By necessity,” he told her. “The world is a dangerous place, and I have worked hard to be able to survive it as I have. The art of healing is both difficult and necessary, and I have poured a great deal of time into learning it.”

She looked at him curiously. She didn’t know enough about magic, or his magic specifically, yet to know whether he was being too hard on himself, but she suspected he was. But all she could do was shrug. “I get a lot of headaches and I feel like I know rather them intimately. Maybe that’s what it is.” He smiled softly for her.

“Do you wish to practice  _ aju’elvyral’dun _ tonight?” he asked after a moment.

“Fuck yes,” she replied, and began removing her armor so she could stretch.


	22. Chapter 22

The attack didn’t come that night. It didn’t come the next day. After three days of nothing, Salshira’s advisors began to relax, and she had to crack the whip at them. What if there was an army around the corner? she asked them. Armies moved slowly. She made Leliana send her scouts out further than ever. She  _ knew _ an army was coming, and given the circumstances it wasn’t hard to get everyone to agree. Cullen got to work on the catapults, keeping them perfectly calibrated, and on the walls. Though the walls were still made of wood at least in this version of the events of the game they were much sturdier. Even so, the Inquisition worked to fortify them as much as possible without actually taking sections down and leaving gaps they couldn’t afford to have.

Solas went with a party of scouts back up to the Temple to study the swirling cloud patterns where the Breach had been a week after it was closed. Salshira hated that he was away from the town, worried about what would happen if he wasn’t there when the attack did finally come, but there was nothing she could do about it. She sat on the Chantry roof, fully armored as she’d been all week with her little bag beside her, and worked on her latest sewing project. She was starting simply with a nice sweater a bit bigger than necessary because she liked the roominess of loose clothing. Her fabric was the softest cotton in a deep earthy green and she loved working with it because it felt so decadent on her hands.

She was working on one of the side seams and humming to herself when Cassandra found her. “Solas has returned,” the warrior said by way of greeting.

Salshira didn’t look up from the stitch she was pulling out because it wasn’t quite right. “Good. Did he find anything interesting?”

“He confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” she reported. “The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory.” Cassandra sounded pleased, but Salshira only hummed to indicate she was listening. “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Salshira snorted then. “Being in the right place at the right time and opinionated enough to make people listen isn’t heroism,” she said darkly. “I did what needed to be done.”

“Which many others did not,” Cassandra told her. “There were a great many who fled when the Breach appeared. You might have done the same, but you did not.”

“The chains, the thrown rocks, and the spitting did not really indicate that I was free to go,” Salshira told her. She was still upset about that, and the rock thrower had never known the pleasure of her smile.

Cassandra made a frustrated noise. “I told you that you were free to do as you wished when I asked you to join us,” she said.

“And your words were in direct contradiction to all of your prior actions, as well as those of all of Haven,” Salshira reminded her, finally putting down her project to meet the woman’s eyes. “Being a Seeker does not make your word law, nor does it make you inherently trustworthy. I had no reason to believe anything you said, but what you did painted a rather clear picture. When I first arrived here, I was a prisoner. It was that simple. In a way, it still is.”

“You still feel trapped?” Cassandra asked, sounding shocked. “These people see you as a prophet!”

“And what do you think they would do if their precious Herald suddenly noped the fuck out of here, off to go try to live a semi-normal life?” she asked, scowling. “They’d tear me apart for that perceived betrayal, you know they would. I am as trapped as I ever was. The only difference now is that I’m not rattling the bars of my cage screaming to get out. But I still recognize that it’s there.”

Whatever reply Cassandra might have made was lost to the sound of the warning bells carried on the breeze. Salshira stuffed away her sewing project, now grateful that she’d remained as prepared as possible, and shimmied down the side of the Chantry with Cassandra right behind her. The unarmored warrior sprinted off in the direction of her cabin while Salshira headed for the gate.

“Cullen!” she called as she arrived. Her Commander was hastily adjusting his vambraces, his sword belt still slung over his shoulder rather than secured around his waist.

“One watchguard reporting,” he said, slinging his belt around his waist. “A massive force approaching, the bulk over the mountain.”

“One?” Salshira cried. “Where are the rest?” Cullen only shook his head.

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, having run up just in time to catch what Cullen said.

“None,” he reported grimly.

“None?” Josephine repeated incredulously. Salshira eyed the gate, waiting.

Sure enough, the sounds of bodies thudding just outside the gate preceded a very familiar voice. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

Salshira ran for the gate and shoved it open, ignoring the cries of protest behind her. A dead body slid into the space between the doors, and she couldn’t help but smile at the small scrawny boy with bloody blades clutched in his hands who stood beyond.

“I’m Cole,” Cole said. “I came to warn you, to help.” He took a stuttering step toward her, reaching out but not quite touching, his eyes hidden by the wide brim of his hat. Like the game he was dressed in patched clothing that looked rather like he’d stolen it out of someone else’s dresser and then tried to fit it to his needs with mixed success. “People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know…”

“What do you know?” she asked him, ignoring Cullen’s blade pointed at the spirit boy. He froze perfectly still for a moment, until suddenly his head snapped up and cool blue eyes met hers with a shock like electricity.

“Not as much as you,” he murmured, too low for the humans to hear. She clenched her jaw, hoping he wouldn’t say anything, that he’d sense what was at stake for her. “The Templars come to kill you,” he said, louder.

Cullen surged forward, making Cole skip back a couple steps. “Templars?” he cried, sounding infuriated. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Cullen,” Salshira said, having already spotted the important part of the coming exposition dump. Samson stood atop a ridge overlooking Haven, one where she’d made Leliana post a group of scouts at all times, scouts who were nowhere to be found. And behind him… Corypheus was a lot more monstrous than he’d seemed in pixels, his face broken and cracked by red lyrium and pulled into odd shapes seemingly on purpose with it. She wondered if that sort of body modification was fashionable in his time or if his contemporaries had found him as hideous as she did. He was monstrously tall, and she wondered if that was a side effect of lyrium, or of the Fade. Fade-touched things were supposed to be bigger, right? Maybe it applied to people, too.

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole told them, watching her watch their enemy. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He pointed so that the others could find where Salshira was looking.

“I know that man,” Cullen murmured, and for a moment he sounded like he was mourning. “But this Elder One…”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole said.

Gently, Salshira drew Cole back behind her, an instinct to protect him. “Cullen, what’s your plan?”

“Haven is no fortress, despite our efforts,” Cullen began. “If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force as hard as you can. Use everything we have.”

He turned to address the crowd that had gathered around the gate, staring at the bodies of dead Templar scouts and the many torches of the approaching army. There were so many of them, and people were already beginning to weep in fear. Salshira saw amongst them her inner circle, and she gestured them toward her. While Cullen addressed the rest of the Inquisition with rather more detailed instructions than the game had, she addressed her friends.

“Blackwall, stay with the noncombatants in the Chantry. You’re their last line of defense. Sera, find everyone who’s hiding in fear and get them to the Chantry. Take Varric with you. Vivian, Dorian, stay with the healers and help wherever you can. Cassandra, Bull, Solas, stay with me, please.” She turned to find Cole listening intently and she smiled as she squeezed his shoulder. “Help them,” she urged, and he nodded and then disappeared. Everyone else rushed off to do as she asked of them, matching looks of determination on all their faces. She took a deep breath to steady herself as the Inquisition soldiers sprinted in all directions to the defense of Haven, rolling her neck on her shoulders. She unstrapped her bow from her quiver and strung it with the ease of practice as those with her readied their weapons.

“Right,” she said, giving them a confident smile. “Time to defend Haven.”

It was a lot worse than it was in the game. The screaming and the scent of burning flesh, of the dead that piled up so quickly. The Templars fell upon them like a wave breaking on the shore, and there seemed to be no end to them. They stank of disease, of death, and the singing of lyrium surrounded them, the demonic whispers of corruption. Salshira kept to high ground as much as possible and fired her bow. She emptied her quiver three times, forced to retreat to the nearest quartermaster who waited with supplies like arrows and blades for those that broke or lost theirs. Each of her arrows found its mark, however, and she no longer had time to feel sick at what she was doing even as the sounds of battle bored into her skull to haunt her later. Solas stayed at her side, sharing a barrier over both their skin and firing his spells from a distance. Cassandra and Bull ranged below their vantage point, obliterating anyone who got too close.

They were not told by a soldier to go check on a catapult, but Salshira noticed it anyway. The one to their left, which had been firing steadily into the advancing army, stopped firing after a while. She called her party to her and they went to investigate, a group of soldiers following by choice. The catapult was surrounded by Red Templars, who had just finished slaughtering the soldiers who had been working it. Salshira’s group attacked with a fury and killed them all, though more came. Eventually they had the catapult cleared and those soldiers who had followed them and remained standing got to work at once.

Defending the reclaimed catapult became all that they could do. There were so many Templars and they just kept coming. To save arrows, Salshira began to use her throwing knives, a collection she’d expanded upon recently. Her vantage point was lost when a Red Templar nearly brought his sword down on her head before Solas blasted him in the chest with fire, and suddenly she was surrounded by the battle. It was awful, terrifying, and she fought by blind instinct. Her body’s impulses and the training she’d been doing took over, kept her alive, kept her moving, even as her mind tried to lose her in panic.

She missed the avalanche, just trying to stay alive as Templars tried to take back control of the trebuchet. She took down her attackers with her daggers because they had gotten too close, her bow slung across her chest, and felt the ground tremble. She looked up in a clear moment and saw the snow starting to settle.

And then they heard it, that awful metallic roar that split the air. And then they saw it, a dark shape that blotted out the sky and was heading straight for them. With a shouted curse, Salshira sprinted away from the trebuchet. And none too soon as the damn thing exploded into flaming splinters and the blast threw her even further and she had to cover her head with her hands as she lay on the ground.

The retreat was sounded a few moments later as she struggled to clear her head, her ears ringing. Solas found her, and his magic on the back of her neck dispelled the dizziness. He pulled her to her feet as Cass and Bull ran for them, and then they all sprinted toward Haven’s gate.

Cullen waited beside the gate, getting everyone inside and brandishing his bloody sword. “Move it, move it!” he cried to them, watching the skies. The gate shut once they were inside, and she wondered how many hadn’t made it inside.

Salshira braced her hands on her knees and tried to just breathe for a moment. Now that she had a moment in which to do so, her arms were burning with strain and she was beginning to grow aware of various injuries she hadn’t noticed she’d picked up. Her right shoulder was cut and bleeding sluggishly, some ribs on her left side might well have been cracked, her cheek beneath her eye was crusted with blood that was probably hers, and she was absolutely covered in bruises. She shook her head hard, wishing the pain would go back to being ignored.

“Get everyone back to the Chantry!” Cullen commanded, looking grim. “It’s the only building that might hold against that beast!” His lips pulled down at the corners and she could see it in his eyes; he thought the battle was lost. “At this point, just make them work for it.”

She would have hit him if she’d had the breath. She knew that they weren’t lost, needed him to believe it, too. But there wasn’t time now. She combed through Haven, gathering her friends as she went as she found them helping the people of Haven. Flissa was indeed trapped under a beam in the burning tavern, and she found Sera struggling to get to Segrett inside a half-collapsed cabin. The Red Templars hadn’t yet made it inside the walls so at least she was distracted by combat and trying not to die as she collected the stragglers and got them to the Chantry with her. Only when she was as certain as she could be that she’d found everyone who could be saved did she sling Adan’s arm over her shoulder and help him limp to the big building.

When the door was opened for them the Chantry was full to bursting. The areas around the perimeter of the main room were filled with the injured and dying, the rest of the space packed with people. Salshira passed Adan to a harried healer, then just gazed around for a moment, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm her mind, to steady her shaking hands. A cool hand found the back of her neck in an increasingly familiar gesture and she closed her eyes to just breathe, to draw on that steady presence.

When magic lit the touch she took the hand between hers to stop it. “No, save your magic,” she told Solas with a small smile. “You’ll need it later.”

“That does not seem likely,” he murmured so that only she might hear. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

“It’s not over yet,” she promised. “It’s only just beginning.”

She spotted Cole propping up Chancellor Roderick, helping him into a chair. He looked at her when he felt her watching. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die,” he told her.

“What a charming boy,” Roderick gritted, gazing askance at the spirit boy.

Cullen pushed through to her as she was resting a hand on Cole’s shoulder while he looked right through her, hoping that he would see her as the rest of them couldn’t and help her with this task.

“Salshira! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us,” he told her, as though she couldn’t tell.

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” Cole told them. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Cullen cried, and Cole flinched from him. “It’s cut a path for that army! They’ll kill  _ everyone _ in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the villagers,” the boy asserted. “He only wants the Herald.”

“If you know why he wants me, please tell us,” Salshira said.

“I don’t,” he admitted, though his eyes pierced through her. “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like -” Cullen began disbelievingly, then cut off with a small sigh as he turned back to Salshira. “There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. You could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven,” she reminded him.

“We’re dying,” Cullen stated as though it were irrefutable fact. She lifted her chin. “But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“Yes, that,” Cole murmured. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the injured man revealed. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people  _ can _ escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could t-tell you.”

“You’re certain? The people can get out?” Salshira asked him, though she knew.

“It was whim that I walked the path,” he told her. “I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now, with so many of the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know. If this simple memory can save us, it could be more than mere accident.  _ You _ could be more.”

Salshira laid her hand on his shoulder for a moment, then turned to Cullen. “Get them out,” she ordered him. “I’ll bury Haven.”

“But what of your escape?” he asked her, frowning. She just smiled at him. She didn’t know the way into the tunnels, didn’t know how she was going to get out. But she’d find a damn way. No way was she going to die at the end of the first act, not after all this. “Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way.”

“I’m the fucking Herald of Andraste and I do what I want,” she told him with an easy smile. “Including survive a dragon and a monster and an avalanche.” She headed for the door, but Roderick’s voice made her pause.

“Herald. If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you,” he told her. She didn’t look at him, just continued on.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her at the door and she turned to find Solas gripping his staff tightly. “You cannot do this alone,” he told her, but she smiled and removed his hand.

“They need you,” she told him. “They need every healer they can find.” When she looked past him she saw the rest of her friends surrounding her, ready to help, and it made her eyes burn.

“Cassandra, Bull, Blackwall,” she called, picking out her warriors, who stood at attention for her. “Can I trust you to run when I say run, and not look back?” They glanced uneasily between themselves, considering, and finally all of them nodded. “Good. Then keep them off me while I go taunt a very tall asshole. Everyone else, go with the rest. Find ways to help. You’re all very good at that.” Solas stood his ground beside her and she thought he might argue, insist that he was going with her, but she knew he wouldn’t leave when she told him to. She kissed the back of his hand and shoved him away, and finally he went.

Cole popped up at her side just before the door opened. “The tunnel is below the tavern. Flissa keeps meat down there because it’s colder. The tavern burned down and her secret cellar is open to the sky. You can get in that way,” he told her, and she could have kissed him. “He needs you to come back. He wants to tell you what you already know, and he’s burning with questions. He wants you to change his mind.” And then he was gone. And it was time to go out and face the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the first major battle my poor girl gets to take part in. You know, I actually thought for a while there that I could fit the confrontation with Corypheus into this chapter. Ridiculous, I know. Anyway, confrontation with Corypheus coming soon!
> 
> Have I mentioned how much I love Cole? I love Cole!


	23. Chapter 23

_Who am I?_ The question rattled around in her brain, nothing else to fill it. _Who am I?_ But there was no one to answer. Labored breathing was the first thing to return to her conscious mind, the first thing to exist alongside the question, but it was not an answer.

_Who am I?_

The sound of snow crunching beneath moving feet joined the question, a slow but steady tread.

_Who am I?_

The rush of high wind was next, followed closely by the burning, biting cold on her ears that spread slowly, like a dream, across her face.

_Who am I?_

Pain was a distant thing, a throbbing under her flesh, with no way to sort through it to find the individual hurts. But there had to be many to blanket her in that dull ache.

_Who am I?_

One foot in front of the other, and now she recognized them as her own. She was moving, slowly, inexorably, toward something just out of reach. How long had she been out in that storm, following a path she could not see? How many steps were between her and where she was going, what she was fleeing?

Because she was fleeing. She knew it, even if she didn’t remember. Something horrible, something terrifying, something that had tried to rip her apart. But she didn’t know. All she knew was the steady tread of her feet through knee high snow, reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. Another step, and another, because there was nothing else. Nothing but the question.

_Who am I?_

But she didn’t know, even as she emerged above the storm on the side of the mountain, as the thin air refused to fill her lungs no matter how many breaths she drew. There was no answer from the now unsteady tread of her feet through the snow, no answer from yet another fireplace she found cold and deserted.

No, not cold.

“Embers?” she whispered, and her voice was not her own. But the fire was not cold. Another step, because there was nothing else.

 _Who am I?_ she wondered, as the snow-covered mountain wavered in her vision. It was the only thing that mattered, the only thing in the whole universe that she needed to know.

 _Who am I?_ A voice on the wind, but she couldn’t hear it. It wasn’t hers. Was it? Maybe it was, maybe she was so desperate not to be the only one who existed that she was inventing others.

_Who am I?_

“Salshira!” No, it was not her voice. It was the answer. Her eyes found his, wide and panicked and racing for her. There were others, too, a blond man and a dark-haired woman and still others behind them, but she didn’t look at them. She looked at the one who answered her question. He was the one who raced ahead of all the others, who caught her when the sound of her footfalls ceased and the snow rushed up at her from the ground.

“Salshira!” he cried, and this time it was not a bellow across space and time. This time it was a hoarse whisper, a desperate sound with a life of its own that curled around her like a wounded animal protecting its young, that filled the air between them with the answer she needed.

 _Who am I?_ The words did not come from her throat because her throat did not work anymore, but she knew. She knew. She was Salshira, and she was that desperation in his voice, clinging to warmth in her blood that was no longer in her skin. She was the fear in blue eyes that reflected the storm below. She was the determination in the hard and angular jaw that clenched with purpose. She was the crackle of magic that filled the air to draw her life back into her body. She was the lips, soft and warm, so very warm, as they found her brow, as they whispered things against her skin that she could not hear. She was the heart that beat against her ear far more rapidly than her own, felt but not heard as the world fell away.

 _Who am I?_ She was his.

 

* * *

 

Salshira woke slowly, swimming back to consciousness a little piece at a time. Nothing made sense, and everything hurt. Until, at last, like bursting through the surface of a pond into open air just before she drowned, everything came back to her and she sat up with a sharp gasp..

Corypheus, Haven’s destruction, her confused and dreamlike trek up a mountain with a probable concussion, among other injuries. Further back, she remembered Redcliffe and the rifts and the Breach and then -

Blankness. Nothing. An empty place where the rest of her life should have been, a childhood gone with nothing in its place.

Until it crashed over her. An alien place, an alien time, where she moved like a shadow from place to place without ever belonging. A different world with different people, where she was something else entirely.

No. _No._

No, this was the alien place. This was the fiction that could not be real. Oh, but it felt real as her head pounded and her ribs ached enough to prevent deep breaths and her wrist screamed at the slightest movement as she tried to use that arm to keep her chest from imploding and her legs cramped and her toes burned. Pain, more real than anything before, flooded her, and she lay back once more.

“Slowly, Salshira, slowly,” a soft voice murmured beside her as she whimpered in agony. She turned her head and found him beside her, pale under cold-reddened cheeks as his warm and rough hand found her brow. Magic spiraled into her and she whimpered pathetically once more as the pain receded just a little.

“Broken wrist, three fractured ribs, one broken that nearly punctured a lung, deep cut through a torn muscle in the right shoulder, two fractured toes, a sprained ankle, and a concussion severe enough that it is nothing short of a miracle you were even awake, much less climbing a mountain,” Solas told her in a strange tone. She blinked at him for a while because his words were disjointed, unrelated to each other, to him, to her, to anything at all. They stared at each other for a while, her blankly and him with rising irritation she didn’t understand.

Until she realized it was a catalog of her injuries.

“Oh,” she whispered, her breath rushing from her lungs, and it seemed entirely inadequate. Solas seemed to think so, too, if the tightening around his mouth and in his shoulders was anything to go by.

He was silent for a few moments more while she gazed blankly beyond him, trying to come to terms with how close to death she’d gotten. But he wasn’t content to be silent for much longer.

“You nearly let that creature kill you,” he whispered, and the sound was savage, as though he was angry with her. She blinked at him again, in confusion and hurt that she didn’t understand.

“Not on purpose,” she whispered inanely, because of course it wasn’t. She didn’t want to die. But it sounded like was blaming her. “I’m sorry.”

His whole body tightened at that and for a moment she thought he was going to explode. Tears welled in her eyes, and it made her angry, frustrated, because it didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t making any sense, but for a brief moment she thought he might simply get up and walk away and never come back. And it tore at her heart.

Until, all at once, he deflated like a balloon. All the anger and tension rushed out of him until all that was left was the shadow of unfathomable fear. He took her hand, her right one because the left wasn’t working, and pressed her knuckles against his lips. “I thought you were going to die,” he whispered hoarsely, his own eyes shining. She tightened her hand, opened her mouth, but she had nothing to say. There were no words for this, but this time he didn’t seem to expect them. So they just sat there together, his lips against her skin.

 

* * *

 

Salshira woke easier than the first time, with no memory of falling asleep. But clearly she had because she was blinking the fog of the Fade from her eyes and she was alone. That saddened her in a way it shouldn’t have, a bone-deep longing that she pushed aside as idiotic and unhelpful. Carefully, so carefully, she slowly sat up. But it didn’t hurt that much, oddly. She panicked for a moment, wondering how long she had been out, until she realized that she tasted magic and odd potions in the back of her throat. No, it couldn’t have been that long.

She looked around, trying to get her bearings, and a hand fell gently on her shoulder. It felt like a boulder, as weak as she was, and nearly knocked her back down. Another hand appeared as her vision swam, holding something out to her. It took her a moment to identify the waterskin, but once she had she snatched it up and drank greedily.

A rich voice chuckled as she drank it down. “Slowly,” an accented voice told her warmly, but she didn’t care. She gasped when the waterskin was empty, bracing her hands on the edge of her cot so she didn’t just fall over again. She breathed her way back to normal, her ribs protesting a bit but not like they were still broken. After a while she managed to get her eyes to focus on her companion and recognized Mother Giselle.

“Where are we?” she asked hazily, recognizing only that she was in a tent and the cold was being battled back by a pair of warm runes, one under her pillow and another at the foot of her cot, leaving the room the tent made just this side of frigid. It had been warmer before she sat up, the heavy wool blanket trapping the heat.

Mother Giselle brought her up to speed, told her that they were currently lost in the mountains and her advisors were bickering and everyone was feeling a little lost. But they were safe, alive, and that was what mattered.

“If I go out there to talk to them, are you going to start singing?” Salshira asked suspiciously, eyeing the mother and dreading the creepy song cutscene. But Mother Giselle looked startled.

“No,” she said, as though she couldn’t imagine why the question had been asked.

Good enough. Salshira levered herself to her feet after a couple tries and carefully made her way out of the tent after tying her cloak in place. She wandered for a while, seeing and being seen, standing tall and walking straight and not letting how bad she truly felt show on her face. She stopped at every fire where groups of hopeless people huddled together to ward off the frozen mountain air, and even if she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to anyone she still smiled for them, let them see that she was okay. That they would be okay. And each time she moved on to another group the one she left sat a little straighter, felt a little lighter. She found her advisors last, arguing as they stood over a map, trying to figure out what to do. They fell silent at her approach, as though waiting for her to pull another miracle out of her ass. She didn’t. She rolled up the map on the table and slid it into its case, then smiled at each of them in turn as the tension and frustration bled away and they looked so very tired.

“Let’s get something to eat,” she told them, the first words she’d spoken since leaving the tent. Such a simple suggestion, yet they all looked at her like it was the most profound thing they’d ever heard. Maybe it was, Salshira didn’t know. But she led the four of them over to the cook tent, handed out bowls, and sat with them in silence as they ate, a peaceful little moment in the middle of a storm. And all of them looked worlds better when the bland, weak stew was out of their bowls and in their bellies.

“A word,” Solas murmured at her shoulder as she finished her drink of melted snow, feeling refreshed. She looked up in curiosity to find him looking rather intense, and she followed him without a question out beyond the camp.

The torch was there, surprisingly, looking ancient and rusted yet still sturdy and strong. However long it had been there, it would stay longer still, a silent watcher waiting for weary travelers. Solas held his hand out to it, a spark of magic from his palm, and the blue-green of Veilfire leapt to life in a memory of all the flames that had burned in this place.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he said as she joined him. She blinked at the sudden return of the script, which seemed to surprise her in odd ways and odd moments. “Their faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride, save one detail.” Solas stood like a soldier, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and proud, his face relaxed yet blank. It made him look sturdy, sturdier than she felt, sturdy enough that if she were to lay her face on one of those stiff shoulders he wouldn’t let her fall. “The threat Corypheus wields, the orb he carries? It is ours.” His little speech continued, but Salshira had zoned off a little bit staring at the breadth of his shoulders and wondering if her hands would fit - there, _just there_ \- where the muscle dipped from neck to shoulder, a warm feeling suffusing her gut.

He was silent for a moment and she mentally slapped herself. “How do you know about the orb?” she asked him, because it was the only thing she could think to say that wasn’t _come cuddle with me, I’m tired._ But it resulted in the same confused and concerned look she might have gotten if she’d actually said it.

“You spoke of it at length,” he informed her. “Do you not remember?”

She blinked at him, trying to sort through the haze of her mind. “No?” she finally settled on, frowning. “I remember… snow. And not knowing anything. And falling. And you. And then… Waking because it hurt, because I felt like I was drowning in it, and you were - “ She cut herself off before she said he was scared. Because he had been, and she still didn’t know why. But she was afraid to ask, and now wasn’t the time anyway. “And then I got up again not long ago and now here we are. I don’t remember filing a report.” The last came out a little sharper than she’d meant because she was trying to sort through wisps of memory, of emotion, some stronger than others like the furious pace of his heart as he held her in the snow, but none of it fitting together in a way that made sense.

And then suddenly his arms were around her and she stiffened with a squeak of surprise, but he wasn’t embracing her or anything of the like. Instead, his hands carefully roamed her scalp under her hair until he found the edges of a very sore spot that she’d managed not to notice until he touched it and then she wanted nothing more than to punt him off the mountain for making her head hurt that badly. Until suddenly it didn’t. His magic cooled the fiery agony of the giant sore spot on the back of her head, where, if memory served, she had first been thrown against a trebuchet and then knocked unconscious by falling debris in Flissa’s hidden cellar. There might have been another whack or two somewhere in between, like maybe during the initial battle, but honestly she didn’t know.

They stood there like that for a while, warmed by fire that no longer existed as magic swirled and a breeze cooled her warm cheeks. But eventually Solas pulled away and withdrew his magic, though he looked nearly as flustered as she was from their proximity. He returned to that same position once more, withdrawn physically but with a slight flush on his cheeks that she didn’t want to put up to the cold wind even though that was probably what it was.

“Your mind needs time to heal what my magic cannot,” he told her, and his voice was so steady she was sure she imagined that he wanted to touch her. “The memories may return, but if they do not it is no cause for alarm. It may also be your mind’s way of protecting itself. In any event, you spoke to myself and Cullen at length about what occurred, as though you knew you were about to forget, shortly after you first woke from the healing trance. You described the orb, told us what Corypheus had said to you, and I sent you back to sleep when you began to sound a bit hysterical and kept repeating that he was too tall up close, and asking about his socks.”

Salshira fought the urge to put her head in her hands at that, a definite flush creeping up her cheeks. She could still remember the screenshots she’d seen of those damn Wicked Witch of the East shoes and striped socks, and apparently she’d somehow latched onto that in the aftermath. Oops.

She cleared her throat in a vain attempt to ease the tightness of embarrassment. “Right, well. Anyway… You seem to know something about the orb?” she managed, though the brash confidence she’d been going for was somewhat derailed by how squeaky her voice sounded. Yet it made his eyes soften and his lips tilt just slightly upward.

“Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods,” he told her, and his damned voice was still steady. “Some were said to be dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memories in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ Elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

“These people trust me,” she told him, because he seemed to expect her to say something. “But more than that, they need me. They can’t fight this without me.”

“And when the battle is done?” he asked rhetorically, something odd and liquid behind his eyes, strangely like compassion, or empathy. But just like that, he banished it. “Whatever the case, that trust cannot grow in the wilderness. You will need every advantage.”

And so he gave her a castle, and quite possibly the key to their victory. Because he was right, and they couldn’t grow into a force that would defeat Corypheus without Skyhold, and she couldn’t find it without him, even knowing that it existed. Because knowing wasn’t enough, she also had to find it, and for that she needed his directions.

He told her to lead, took as little credit and as few questions as possible for the discovery of the ancient and abandoned fortress. He stayed in the shadows, in the background, as the Inquisition rallied around her, always watching. And she knew why, of course she knew, but she let him do it anyway because it wasn’t time to force the issue. But she let him know that she saw him watching, that she knew he was holding back.

And then she had a castle to rebuild and a title to claim, and precious little time for the mind games they played together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had surgery, but now I'm back. Hopefully no more surgery. And my muse seems to be waking up this fine solstice evening, so that's good.


	24. Chapter 24

Salshira sighed over the blueprints of reconstruction, her eyes crossing from effort and the lines blurring alarmingly. With a grunt of frustration she sat back in her chair and contemplated swiping the whole desk clean and just getting out of there for a while. It wasn’t a bad idea, but she knew she still had work to do, so she sighed again and rubbed her eyes to clear them. Focusing again on the lines, on the proposed renovations for a very old castle with too many broken walls, trying to choose between purposes for their limited space. Not very limited, since the castle was huge, even more so than the game suggested. Truly, she could store an army in her halls, and she intended to. At first glance from the next rise over, Skyhold had seemed a lumbering beast crouched among the clouds, a hermit hiding in a cave. But as they grew closer, as the mists of morning evaporated, she had seen the truth. Doubled in size from the game just from what she could see above ground, it was a massive and proud structure with a dozen towers lining the walls and the top of the keep just visible over the gate wall, and depths dug into the mountainside that they hadn’t even finished exploring yet. They’d had to rebuild the bridge just to get in, the only way to the main gate having fallen into a ravine some centuries earlier. It was sturdy now, strong enough to withstand almost anything, and had seen thousands of stomping feet since.

The walls had been rebuilt and shored up, first attention going to defense and structural integrity, weeks of work day and night before they could even start to make the place liveable while they all slept in tents pitched outside the walls and worked in shifts. No one with an able body was given a pass not to work, and Salshira had learned to mix the grout that was used to cement the stones of the walls together, straining her arms to stir the thick stuff in giant vats to give to the stone haulers and builders. But now the walls were built and the towers repaired and the barracks nearly completed. The keep had a proper floor and the giant chandelier had been hung only that afternoon. Josephine had wanted to start on the Inquisitor’s quarters, a large room that was part of the original structure that sat on the very top of the Keep to look out over all sides that probably had a breathtaking view. But Salshira had refused, told them to focus on the general living quarters first, where most of the Inquisition’s everyday people would stay, the cooks and the smiths and the maids who needed soft beds and privacy. Those were nearly finished now with work starting on the rooms for visiting important people, but Salshira didn’t care much about those.

She’d ordered a space that some wanted turned into a religious hall be dedicated to an enormous garden with small idols placed among the vegetables and edible plants so that if people wanted somewhere besides the small Chantry to pray they might also lend a hand toward the growing of food and cultivating of medicines. She refused to let the Chantry run right over everything, refused to turn the whole castle into a shrine. It had been quite a fight with some of them, who thought spirituality more important than practicality or any attempt at self-sufficience. She’d made sure they were overruled, now that she was Inquisitor. She had a feeling that her advisors had begun to regret their decision almost immediately when she levered her title to slap down some rules almost instantly.

“Working still?” a voice asked, making her sit up with a start. She hadn’t realized she’d been lost in thought until it was interrupted, and she looked around with chagrin. Solas stood on the other side of the library, whose shelves were quickly filling with all the information about Thedas they could ever need. She’d ordered a small section reserved for fiction, however, since everyone needed a little leisure sometimes. Varric had quickly helped fill it, and not only with his own works.

“Always,” she told him with a wry twist of her lips. “Even in sleep.” She gestured around them to the seams in the world, where a bookshelf didn’t quite meet the wall and where titles she hadn’t read or couldn’t see were blurred into unrecognizable patterns.

Solas shook his head as he approached, shining against the background of the Fade as only a Dreamer could. “Sleep should be used for rest and respite,” he told her, perching on a nearby stool that had been covered in books before he waved them away.

“But there’s so much to do,” Salshira sighed, gazing with slowly mounting panic at the piles of papers and buckets full of rolled up blueprints.

Until Solas made them vanish. “Enough of this,” he declared as she blinked at the suddenly empty desk. “You will make yourself ill. Everyone needs to rest, including you.”

She gazed at him for a moment, hoping. “Then distract me,” she suggested. “Show me something, tell me something new.”

His smile was slow and sweet, an odd boyishness in his eyes that intrigued her. He held out a hand in invitation and she took it before even thinking. Suddenly, she found herself following him up the snowy stone steps of Haven just inside the gate and her heart leapt into her throat for a moment.

“Why here?” she asked, because it had little enough to do with anything at the moment, except that they were no longer living there.

“Haven is familiar,” he told her. “It will always be important to you.”

“That makes it easier to call up,” she mused, remembering the lessons of the Fade both he and her own spirit friends had taught her. Familiarity, emotional connection, even if it was negative all helped to cement a place in the Fade, to build it in the mind of the Dreamer. His smile was approving when he turned to her.

The next moment they were standing in the dank dungeon where she’d woken up at the beginning of it all, the one she’d made every effort never to see again once she was released from it. She shivered and the scene wavered for a moment, her feelings for the place writing the walls with lines of mold before it stabilized. “I sat beside you while you slept,” Solas reminded her as he gazed at the cell where they had first spoken, “studying the Anchor.”

“How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?” she asked wryly, gazing at the mark in question. Without the Fade pulsing through it, it looked like little more than a bruise, though oddly colored.

“A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil?” he asked, looking as well. “Longer than you might think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone,” Salshira said wryly, then felt her heart leap into her throat as she recognized, without a doubt, where this was going.

And because Solas laughed. It was a small thing, barely more than a chuckle, but it made her toes curl because it was so utterly without restraint. He had been holding himself so closed off from her, from everyone, that hearing that honest sound made her knees weak.

A moment later they were walking away from the closed Chantry door in the sunlight, and Salshira was grateful to be out of that damn dungeon. “You were never going to wake up,” Solas continued, that brand new lightness in his voice still there. “How could you, mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.” He turned to face her again, his shoulders loose and posture relaxed, despite his choice of conversation. “Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“And where would you go that a giant hole in reality wouldn’t be a constant threat?” she asked, raising a brow. His lips twitched.

“Someplace far away, where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me,” he told her, and her other brow joined the first. “I never said it was a good plan.”

He turned toward the memory of the Breach, still alive and active and deadly so close to where they stood, and thrust his hand toward it the way she did when she was trying to close a rift. “I told myself: One more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed,” he said, retracting his hand slowly, the frustration he must have felt at the time audible. “No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…”

Space warped around them, a memory within a memory both watched and experienced as he thrust her hand to a rift, toward the Breach, an echo of power making a connection that this time didn’t hurt. And then it was broken and they were standing where they had been in a memory of Haven, contemplating the Breach. He turned back to her, stepped closer as though drawn by some unseen force. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he told her warmly, and she felt her cheeks heat though she wasn’t sure why. She was still arguing with herself, barely listening to him even as she hung on every word.  _ Should I kiss him? _ The thought echoed so loudly she couldn’t imagine why he didn’t hear it. It filled her head like the sound of a gong, loud and echoing and vast and so very, very urgent.  _ Should I kiss him? _ The time was coming soon, and she could almost taste him on her lips.

“You had sealed it with a gesture,” he continued, oblivious. “And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

_ I’m going to kiss him _ . It was firm, decided, as though there had never been another option and never could be. She needed it, had fought against it long enough already. “Felt the whole world change?” she echoed, taking half a step closer with a smile tugging at her lips.

His whole face changed, from curious and elated and oddly young to something old that yearned and tugged at her chest, something that begged her to come nearer even as it warned her away. Something with warm breath and sharp teeth that wanted to hold her even as it feared to bite. “A figure of speech,” he demurred, and that longing grew.

“I’m aware of the metaphor,” she told him, drawn in, in, and down. “I’m more interested in ‘felt.’”

She saw his throat move then, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, as a light of excitement and desire began to build in his gaze. He leaned closer, drawn in the same dance that held her. Closer, closer, swaying together to the beat of their hearts. “You change…  _ everything, _ ” he breathed, and their dance swayed them just a little further apart.

There was a line, one more thing she could say, but whatever it was she couldn’t summon it, didn’t want it. There was nothing for her to say, and everything she wanted to tell him. So she said nothing, and leaned in for that kiss. But he was looking away, his eyes skittered to the side as though he were trying to convince himself to pull away again, but she wouldn’t let him. Her hand on his jaw to turn his face, the smoothness of his skin and the surprise in his eyes and then she was  _ there! _ Right there, her lips on his, his breath in her mouth and it was real, so devastatingly real that she could drown in it happily and never wake up.

_ No! _ some part of her cried, surfacing to remind her that she was a fool, that she was dreaming within a dream and it would destroy her. It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real, and everything she was doing was wrong. She pulled back, driven by panic, by some sense that nothing she knew to be true ever was, but he caught her by the hips and pulled her against him and then his lips were on hers again and that small, sane part of her was buried under a wave of sensation.

She’d never felt anything quite like it, had nothing to truly compare it to. His lips were warm and firm and yielding, his breath tasting like spices and cider. His tongue, when it swept across her lower lip and then slid inside her mouth when she opened for him, was smooth against hers, and sweet. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her against the hard lines of his body, against the hard bulge of him against her belly. Until it wasn’t enough, or it wasn’t right, and he slipped his knee between her legs as his hands tightened against her and for a moment, just a brief moment, she was utterly convinced that she was wearing no clothes as he pressed his thigh against the sweet spot between her legs and leaned her back with the force of his kiss to press her into it. The air around them lit with the sparks that flew in her stomach, arcing bolts of pleasure escaping her skin to strike at the air, at him, as his fingers clenched against her back, both naked and clothed at once, the same warmth that crept along her veins warming the cold mountain air around them until it was like standing in a sauna. The pleasure of her chest against his, her pleasure molded by his body, his hands on her felt so much more intimate than it should have been. It felt like sex, like he was part of her, like he moved within her as she rocked against his thigh in time to the stroking of his tongue in her mouth and the caress of his lips on hers as she clutched desperately at his shoulders, wrapped her arms around him for dear life and just held on. There was nothing else, nothing but this, but him, all her secrets gone and all her desires brushed away until all she existed for was this moment, this kiss, so much more than any kiss before it.

And then he pulled away, and a sound was wrenched from her throat that was embarrassingly close to a whimper. She wanted him back, wanted to break upon the waves of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her, and she pulled at him until he kissed her once more. It was a brief thing, an apology, as he pulled away entirely, his leg removed from between hers and that sense of nakedness gone from her skin, but she still she clutched at him because he was all that held her upright.

“We shouldn’t,” he told her, and it sounded like nonsense because his voice was rough and his breathing ragged, and how could he even think that anything else existed but the kiss? Until he banished the fog that had clouded her mind, her perceptions, that had turned a kiss into something so much more. “It isn’t right, not even here.”

“Why not here?” she whispered, because her voice wasn’t obeying her. Even freed from that all-encompassing cloud of desire she still wanted him. One more kiss, just one…

But his smile was sweet and resolute, an apology at the edges because he had more control, and less. “It would probably be best to discuss that after you wake up.”

Salshira sat up with a sharp gasp in her little cot that she’d set up in the library so she could work as long as possible, then fell back with a hand pressed to her racing heart and the taste of Solas on her lips.

 

* * *

When morning came there was a fog over Salshira’s mind, a need reawakened with a vengeance that would not be banished. She tried to banish it in the baths while she had a moment alone, and then again in the little closet she’d taken over for herself that let off onto the library where she was working, but it was no use. Pleasure taken from her hand wasn’t what she needed, and she knew, she  _ knew _ , that Solas wasn’t ready to give it to her. She wasn’t ready to receive it from him, either. And she didn’t know, really, if the thing she needed most of all was something he could give. It was time to talk.

She found him in the rotunda that morning alone, gazing at his latest mural instead of at the books that were open on his desk, an untouched mug steaming at his elbow. A pang hit her for a moment when she remembered Wisdom, a whole other problem that had filled pages and pages of her notes with how to fix it. But it wasn’t time yet, his gaze was peaceful and a smile tilted his lips as he watched her approach.

“Sleep well?” he asked, as though he couldn’t help it, and she grinned.

“It was certainly not something I expected to do in the Fade. Or  _ do _ in the Fade,” she told him, and was gratified by his chuckle and that little snort right at the end. Then he collected himself and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him.

“I apologize,” he told her, suddenly serious. “The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

Salshira leaned her weight onto one leg, cocking a hip and crossing her arms with a smirk. “You say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue,” she reminded him.

His eyes widened. “I did no such thing!” he cried, and then color flooded his cheeks. Well, good to know that she hadn’t been the only one drowning in that fog of pleasure.

“Oh? Does it not count when it’s only Fade-tongue?” she asked, and that color filled his ears as well.

“It has been a long time,” he defended, though a memory of pleasure flashed in his eyes. “And things have always been easier for me in the Fade.” His hands tightened almost imperceptibly on each other, tension gathering in his shoulders. “I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

She perched carefully on the edge of his desk, now serious as she tried to figure out how to say it in a way he would understand. “I’m willing to take that chance,” she told him. “But there’s something you should know.” His eyes met hers, waiting patiently, and she bit her lip as she chewed over phrasings.

“Tell me, then,” he urged softly, and she managed to take a deep breath.

“My heart isn’t a box, with only so much space inside,” she began haltingly. “I care for you, and I want to know where this could lead, if you do. But my affections aren’t… possessive. I don’t claim, and I cannot be claimed. It doesn’t mean that what I feel for you is any less real, but -” She cut off, scowling, knowing she was making a mess of it and trying to figure out how to fix it before she hurt him, before he sent her away.

“You can feel affection for another without your affection for me being diminished,” he supplied, and she met his gaze in shock, eyes gone wide. “Because your heart knows many different kinds of love, and all of them are real. Your heart needs room to grow, to feel love for whoever is worthy of it.”

She blinked at him in blank shock for a while, stunned to silence. “How did you…?” she tried, but the words trailed off.

“Because I am the same,” he told her with a smile that made her heart pound. “There was a time, when I had the notion for such things, when I could love many. Each new person is unique, an experience to be treasured, and the things I could love about one person I might not find in another, yet they, too, have their own precious qualities.” He sat back in his chair, perfectly at ease with a discussion she’d faltered through many times with people who didn’t understand that she wasn’t simply trying to fuck everything in sight, that she didn’t even want sex half the time. “In the days of Elvhenan, it was quite common,” he told her confidently. “I imagine that for those who could live forever love would always grow and change and come and go. Though many would marry for life it was not uncommon to explore other affections as well, and there was no shame in love that faded.” His eyes shone for a moment as he saw something that was far away, long ago. “It must have been so… freeing.”

She thought about the idea of being married for centuries, frowning. “It sounds complicated, to stay in love for so long,” she admitted. “I bet there were different customs around marriage, weren’t there?” He nodded, looking surprised but pleased.

“Marriage itself was much different, in fact,” he said, still looking far away. “And hardly excluded to only two people at a time. Magic was woven into everything, including marriage, which would lay upon the skin and tie strings between the hearts of those who chose to be wed.”

“Strings?” she asked, getting a weird feeling. It sounded awfully similar to a concept she’d written about, in her previous life.

Solas nodding, seeming not to notice her discomfort, or to assume it was something else. “In memories I have seen lovers who stood on opposite sides of the world and spoke in memory and emotion as though they were in the same room. I have seen a man go to his knees in agony as his wife was stabbed in battle, taking the pain so that she could continue fighting without such distraction. Marriage tied our people in more than just vows.”

Salshira was silent, absorbing a concept that Solas presented as simple fact but which she had once believed that she had invented to fluff out canon a little.  _ Well, sure, why the fuck not? My own fucking character is queen of Ferelden, why not this, too? _ It made her feel off balance, after feeling like everything might actually be real for a little while and then having the rug pulled from under her. “Amazing,” she murmured, but she wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

Solas was the first to snap out of his reverie, bringing her with him. “Then you brought this up to give me an opportunity to choose if it is something I can live with,” he surmised, and she nodded. He took her hand and gently pressed her knuckles against his lips. “It is not something that will bother me,” he promised, and the tension she had been holding dissolved.

“Oh, good,” she managed. “Because there’s a thing I definitely need and I know someone who can give it to me because I know you want to take your time and I respect that and agree but I’ve kind of woken up with a vengeance and -”

Solas stopped her rambling with a finger against her lips, a smile flirting with his lips and playing in his eyes. “It’s alright,” he promised her. “Go.”

She stood, and he turned to his work as though nothing at all had happened and she lingered a moment at the surreal quality of his easy acceptance. “Wow, you really do get it,” she mused, and he smiled at her again.

“I take it you are more accustomed to having this part of you denied or misconstrued?” he guessed, and she shrugged because he was right. “I can sympathize,” he reminded her. “I may be willing to see where this leads between us, if I could take a little time to think. There are… considerations. Unrelated to this discussion.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand where it rested on his desk. “Take all the time you need,” she told him, and he nodded slightly. And then she left to have a similar conversation with someone else, because she still needed relief from the burning ache in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOTHAFUCKIN FADE KISS!
> 
> And it's been a long time coming! Tell ya what, I have been slowly crushed to death by the sexual tension here and now FINALLY it can be released.
> 
> Not entirely. But there's smut coming up. Next chapter or the one after, depends on how long this other thing takes. Fuck yeah, my time to shine!


End file.
